


Family First

by LadyWallace



Series: Who We Are [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 12x12 (Stuck in the Middle), Angst, BAMF! Sam&Dean, BAMF!Cas, BMoL are dicks, BMoL use Cas, British Men of Letters, Cas Whump, Cas works with the BMoL instead of Mary, Evil Ketch, Family Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Manipulation, No Slash, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean, Protective Sam, Team Free Will, The boys and Cas actually talk about things, Worried Winchesters, cas has secrets, hurt cas, sam and dean to the rescue, season 12, some canon divergence (but still compliant), the boys actively worry about Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-07 14:32:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11625567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyWallace/pseuds/LadyWallace
Summary: S12 The BMoL force Cas to work for them by threatening Sam and Dean, and if it’s between lying to the Winchesters and keeping them alive, he knows what he’d choose. But when Cas keeps showing up at the bunker with injuries the boys have suspicions of their own. Can they find out the truth before it’s too late to save Cas from a deadly enemy?





	1. The Deal

 

Chapter One

The Deal

 

 

Castiel trudged back to his truck, feeling annoyed and defeated after yet another false lead on the location of Kelly Kline. How hard could it be to track down a pregnant woman on the run with no apparent resources or family to help her out? He was tired of this seeming wild goose chase, especially since time was running out. He didn’t know enough about nephillim to be sure the gestation period was the same as with a human child, so in reality, they could have even less time than he thought. Either way, he was on the verge of looking for help elsewhere. Even if it meant asking Crowley—and he _really_ didn’t want to have to do that. The last thing he needed right now was the demon tagging along, trying to be his partner again.

He reached into his coat pocket for his keys, figuring he might head back toward Lebanon and see what Sam and Dean were doing. He had run out of leads on Kelly for the moment and if he could help them out with a hunt while he regrouped, it would be better than wandering aimlessly without any real direction.

However, before he could cross to the place he had parked his truck, headlights flared up behind him and he turned, shielding his eyes in annoyance as he stepped out of the way for the car to pass.

But instead of passing, the car simply pulled around and parked in front of him, the engine turning off. Castiel’s hand twitched, but he refrained from grabbing his blade yet. He wasn’t sure who this was; it could just be a random person and he might be in their way.

But as the doors opened, revealing the two occupants, Castiel’s guard went up instantly. Oddly enough, he wasn’t surprised.

“Ah, the angel.”

Arthur Ketch stepped out of the driver’s side, leveling that seemingly blasé but all too intense gaze at Castiel, as he shut the door behind him and leaned against the car nonchalantly as the passenger door also opened and Mick Davies climbed out coming around the car with a pleasant smile on his face.

“Castiel, isn’t it? Just the angel we wanted to see,” Mick said and extended his hand toward Castiel. The angel just leveled a glare at him, not making any move to shake it. Mick pulled it back with a shrug, still smiling.

“What are you doing here?” Castiel demanded suspiciously.

“Well, you see, we kind of had a proposition for you,” Mick said. “I was wondering if you might take the time to chat with us? We can go find a spot of tea somewhere; or coffee, if you prefer.”

“Unless you have information on Kelly Kline, I am not interested and I must be going.” Castiel started to move past them.

“Easy, halo,” Ketch said, pushing off from the car and stepping deliberately into Castiel’s path. The angel eyed him suspiciously. “We just want to have a civil talk. That’s all.”

Castiel cast a glance between them. He could take them both easily if he had to, and maybe they did have helpful information. Of course the reason behind their finding him here practically in the middle of nowhere was strange, he had to admit, but as long as he was cautious with this meeting, there shouldn’t be any harm to it.

“Fine,” he said finally. “If you want to talk, we can do it here.”

“Perfect,” Mick said, smiling again. “You see, this is about a job opportunity. We could use your help.”

Castiel looked at the two British Men of Letters suspiciously. “I don’t understand. Why do you need me?”

“We need someone with your particular skill sets,” Mick said, that normal smile on his face that Castiel didn’t trust at all. “Having an angel on our team would make a lot of hunts easier. For all of us.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Still. Why just me, and not the Winchesters as well?”

“The Winchesters are…how shall we say this?” Mick seemed to search for a phrase. “Well, let’s just say that they have a… _different_ way of going about things than we see fit. You, on the other hand seem more, well, conformable.”

Castiel bristled at that. All his life he had followed orders, orders that he usually didn’t even believe in, and had been bent to the will of others against his own too many times in the past. Mick Davies wasn’t going to be the next person Castiel allowed to command him. He was done with that.

“I don’t think I’m as _conformable_ as you seem to think,” he glared at the Englishman.

Ketch gave a small smirk at this. “Perhaps not. But angels will be angels.”

Before Castiel could demand what he had meant by that, Mick stepped in again, once more being the one to smooth the ruffled feathers. “Look, Castiel. What we’re trying to do is a good thing. Surely you can agree with that? It will not only make a safer country, but it will keep your friends, the Winchesters, out of harm’s way. They may even be able to retire and live a normal life.”

“Hunting is their life,” Castiel said, repeating what he had heard Sam and Dean say themselves. “Saving people from evil.”

“Come on, everyone wants a chance at normality,” Mick said, that smile flitting over his lips again, cajoling. Castiel hated being cajoled. “You have to understand, that they are literally the only ones getting in the way of our plan. And we _will_ see our plan to fruition eventually.”

“No matter who tries to stop us,” Ketch added.

Castiel looked between the two men, anger flaring even more brightly inside of him. “Are you…threatening Sam and Dean?” he demanded.

Mick didn’t reply right away. “Not as such…but, let’s just say that we _were_ expecting them to turn around on their refusal of our offer after we helped spring them from the government facility. And the fact that they _haven’t_ , well, we’ve been having some…regrets…about aiding in their escape.”

Castiel’s grace flared as he stepped toward the two men with a dangerous glint in his eye. “If you dare harm the Winchesters, I promise I will make sure you never do anything else.”

Ketch shoved past Mick, his fingers suddenly wrapped around one of the sigiled pairs of brass knuckles that he must have been keeping in his pocket. Castiel wished Ketch would try something so he had an excuse to take him on there. He had not so long ago killed a reaper to save the Winchesters, after all. An Englishman, even with fancy toys, wasn’t going to stop him.

But Mick grabbed Ketch by the sleeve. “No need for the posturing, boys. Castiel, I think you see where you stand on this. There’s really only one option.”

“From where I stand, I see two,” the angel said darkly. “I could always kill you both.”

Ketch smirked. “No, you couldn’t, actually.” He pulled his coat aside and showed a strange sigiled contraption hanging from the inside. “This is a sort of angelic knock-out bomb. Harmless to humans, as it happens, but you…well, you wouldn’t have a chance to land a blow before I can activate it. And once it starts working, well, you could wake up just about anywhere.”

Castiel clenched his fists, knowing he was standing between a rock and a hard place. But still…

“Another thing for you to consider,” Mick said, “is that if you don’t take this opportunity, we’ll just go to Mary Winchester with the same offer. And, considering recent events, I don’t think she would really be willing to refuse, now, do you?”

“You stay away from Mary,” Castiel growled.

Mick held up a hand. “We won’t go near her as long as you comply.” He cocked his head to one side. “So, what will it be? Are you in? Or out?”

Castiel ground his teeth together. He didn’t want to do this. Every fiber of his being said not to, but at the same time, his job was still to protect the Winchesters. At least how he saw it. When Sam and Dean had been taken by the secret service, he hadn’t known what to do. All he had known was that if he didn’t get them back, he would have lost his family and he couldn’t allow that to happen. He didn’t owe the Brits anything, but he did owe Sam and Dean _everything_. For being his family when he had thought he had lost any right to family at all. And Mary had just come back, fighting to fit in, much like he was. She was just now getting more settled into her new life, and Castiel knew that if something happened to her on a job, or if she started working for the Brits behind her sons’ backs, it would break Sam and Dean all over again. And Castiel couldn’t allow that. He couldn’t let that happen. He had to protect his family in any way he could, and if that meant working a few jobs under the radar for these insufferable men, then he would just have to do it. Until he found a valid loophole, anyway.

“Well?” Mick asked, cutting into his inner musings.

Castiel glowered at him, but gave a jerky nod. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Mick grinned and clasped his hands together. “Brilliant! I will be in contact with you as soon as I have a job where your expertise is needed.”

“Great,” Castiel said blandly.

“Oh, and Castiel,” Mick added. “Don’t tell the Winchesters about this.”

“And what if they wonder where I am while I’m out running errands for you?” Castiel demanded. “I’ve been hunting with them lately.”

“Then lie,” Ketch said blithely. “I hope that’s not too much for you.”

Castiel glared at him. “I will not lie to them. They are my family.”

Ketch seemed to find this amusing. He chuckled. “My, you are an oddity aren’t you? An angel who calls humans his family.”

“They _are_ my family,” Castiel snarled at him. “Family does not end with blood. Sam and Dean are the closest thing I have to brothers since being cast out of heaven.” He glanced at Mick. “I will work for you, if that’s what I must do to protect them, but I will not betray them by lying. Never again.” He felt a pang as he remembered his partnership with Crowley back when Raphael had tried to restart the apocalypse and all the pain that caused both him and the Winchesters. No, he would never do that again.”

“Then we may have a problem,” Mick said. “You know they would never agree to let you work with us if they knew.”

“I make my own decisions,” Castiel growled, bristling.

Ketch’s mouth quirked in amusement again. “Really? Because I think you’re just their attack dog. A pet angel who is more loyal to them than they are to it. You do realize that if they try to stop us, try to get in our way, they will have to be removed. Forcibly, if necessary. And from what I know of them, it _will_ be necessary.”

Castiel wanted to hurt the man right then, but Ketch moved his hand toward the inside of his coat again and he stopped, knowing it would be pointless if he tried anything. They may just try to _remove_ the Winchesters again if he refused them now.

“Fine, I won’t tell them. But I can’t help if they become suspicious. Let me know when you need me.” Castiel turned on his heel.

“Looking forward to working with you,” Mick’s chipper voice sounded behind him.

“Likewise,” Ketch added.

Castiel didn’t even bother looking back. He just strode to his truck and slammed the door as he got inside. He swallowed hard.

What on earth had he gotten himself into?

***

 _It was after midnight_ by the time Castiel got back to the bunker. He almost didn’t go in, afraid to wake the brothers, but chances were that someone was usually still up at this time of night, so he opened the door and clumped down the iron stairs.

As expected, Sam was sitting up in the library, on his laptop. He looked up as Castiel came in and offered a small smile.

“Hey, Cas, did you get anything from your lead?”

Castiel pulled out a chair and slumped tiredly into it. “No. Nothing, it was a dead end,” he grunted, and rubbed his hands over his face tiredly. “Now I have no idea where to look.”

Sam closed his laptop and leaned on the desk, hands clasped in front of him. “Look, Cas, don’t worry about it right now. We’ll find her.”

“Sam, we don’t have much more time,” Castiel insisted.

“We’re bound to turn something up though, we always do,” Sam assured him. “We just need to know what we’re looking for.” He shrugged. “In the meantime, why don’t you hang out here for a few days? You look exhausted. You’ve been putting in a lot of hours.”

Castiel couldn’t argue with that. “I know. But this…Sam we have to find her. If Lucifer’s child is born…I don’t even know what that would mean.”

Sam nodded. “I know. Trust me, it gives me nightmares.” He chuckled wryly and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “But we can’t run ourselves ragged either, Cas. If we do, then we won’t even have the strength to fight the next evil that comes out way.”

“You’re right,” Castiel admitted, too tired to argue anyway. His vessel had felt very heavy of late. Lucifer had taken a bit of even the small amount of grace he had left, and he found he couldn’t even get that strength back. And without his wings, he was spending long days on the road tracking down leads. It was exhausting and he found himself craving a few days of rest where he didn’t have to drive anywhere. Maybe use them to clear his mind and start his search for Kelly Kline over again. With Sam and Dean’s input, they may actually be able to come up with something.

“Well, anyway, I’m going to turn in,” Sam said, and stood up. “Get some rest, Cas.”

“I’ll try,” Castiel said. “Sam…” he opened his mouth with every intention of saying something about the Men of Letters, but yet…he couldn’t. He hated them, but he also knew they could make good on their threats. And he couldn’t put Sam and Dean in danger. Not again.

Sam was still looking at him expectantly and Castiel sighed. “Um…thank you for letting me stay here. You and Dean have been very accommodating.”

Sam’s face softened. “We never should have been anything different. You’re family, Cas. You belong here.”

Castiel’s mouth turned up in a small smile that was probably just a bit too sad. Sam didn’t seem to notice, though. “Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight.”

Castiel watched the younger Winchester head toward the dormitory wing as a knot formed in his stomach. Yes, the Winchesters were his family, and that was why he had to protect them.

He just wondered how long he was going to be able to keep this from them. If they found out he was working with the Brits, then…well, Castiel wasn’t sure they would be so accommodating anymore. But no matter what, he would continue to make sure Mick Davies and Arthur Ketch stayed far away from his family.

Now he just wondered how much time he had before he would be called in for his first mission.


	2. Lies and Covers

Castiel did stay and rest in the bunker for a couple days. He discussed Kelly Kline with Sam and Dean and where they thought she might have gone. With their help, he had crossed off several places he thought might be likely but after researching some they had discovered probably weren't after all. That would cut down on his searching quite a bit, but didn't give him any more leads either.

But through all of it, the only thing he could think about was his phone, burning a hole in his pocket as he waited for Mick Davies to call him with some mission they wanted him for. He didn't like being at their beck and call. It reminded him too much of being a warrior in heaven. Not that he had ever minded being an angel of the Lord, but the things his superiors had forced him to do on occasion, giving him no choice but to obey unless he wanted to be 're-educated' had left a bitter taste in his mouth. And this was little better. Worse, because he was being commanded by humans. Humans he could by all rights smite easily enough, even in his weakened condition. But what was done was done, and he was afraid that if he tried to back out, they would come for Sam and Dean and he couldn't let that happen.

"Hey, I think I found a case."

Castiel was brought out of his dark musings by Dean's announcement. He looked up from the book he was reading to see Dean come into the library with his laptop. He set it between Castiel and Sam, showing them a news article. "Looks like a werewolf pack."

"Phase of the moon is off, though," Sam said as he took Dean's computer and started scanning through the article.

"Yeah, but all the vics were missing their hearts. I think this is a case of a pure blood were-clan. They can change any time they want like those werewolves Garth was hanging out with, remember?"

"True," Sam agreed. "And that would make it more likely for them to be in a group since typical werewolves are loners. And judging by the body count, there's more than just a couple and they're not making it a point to hide what they're doing."

"Where is it?" Castiel asked, as Sam turned the laptop toward him.

"Illinois," Dean told him. "Only a few hour's drive from here. We can leave first thing in the morning. You in, Cas?"

Castiel nodded. "If this is a large pack, you may need my help."

"Great," Dean said and took his laptop back. "Another pair of hands is always a good thing. I'm gonna hit the sack then, rest up before tomorrow."

"Me too," Sam said, standing up from the table.

"Goodnight," Castiel said. "I think I will do a little more research on this case, see if I can find any pertinent information."

"Sounds good," Sam said. "Goodnight, Cas."

Castiel researched some and then went back to looking for any trace of Kelly Kline. He still couldn't believe how easily she had dropped off the map. Perhaps she had found someone to help her. After all, she had been pretty high up in the government as a presidential aide, it wouldn't be unlikely she would have various resources and means to make herself disappear. She may even have left the country. Castiel wasn't sure how to check if that were the case, and decided it was going to have to be something he would ask Sam and Dean to help him with later.

His phone rang early in the morning, startling him. He yanked it from his pocket, and his stomach twisted as he saw it was the Men of Letters.

He really didn't want to answer it, but it was better to just get it over with.

"What?" he asked curtly.

"Good morning," Mick Davies' all too cheerful voice came over the line. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"I don't sleep," Castiel replied blandly.

"Ah, of course, well, I wanted to alert you to a mission that we will need your help on. Mr. Ketch has been tracking a nest of vampires who have been causing trouble in North Dakota. He's going to need a couple extra men on the job, and most of our other operatives are out in the field. Are you up for it?"

"Do I have a choice?" Castiel grunted.

Mick swiftly skated that question. "How is tomorrow for you?"

Castiel felt torn. "I'm already on a case, perhaps in two days…"

"I don't think you understood our agreement, Castiel," Mick said, his voice getting less pleasant. "You come when we ask or we will find someone else, like Mary Winchester. If you're worried about leaving the Winchesters in the lurch, just remember that this will be one less hunt they will have to deal with. One less reason for them to cross our path. Do we have an understanding?"

Castiel seethed. "Yes," he finally ground out. "But what do I tell them?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something," Mick told him. "I'll text you the location you will be meeting with Mr. Ketch. I look forward to working with you."

"That makes one of us," Castiel grunted and ended the call before Mick could reply. He gritted his teeth. Of course, it had to be at the same time he was hunting with Sam and Dean. How was he going to tell them he couldn't go on the hunt after all? He figured it was practically pointless as they would surely know that something was up. He was just going to have to come up with some convincing lie.

He was already seriously regretting his decision.

By the time Sam and Dean got up, Castiel had made coffee and Sam smiled with appreciation and yawned as Castiel offered him a cup.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said as Castiel did the same for Dean who followed his brother into the kitchen.

"You got everything packed up, Cas?" Dean asked him.

Castiel bit his lip, and forced the lie from his mouth. "I…um, actually don't think I'll be joining you after all."

"What? Why?" Dean asked with a frown.

"I…think I might have found a lead on Kelly Kline last night that I want to follow before it grows cold.

"Oh," Sam said, then, "You want us to come with you?"

Castiel shook his head. "No, go take care of the werewolf problem. I'll be fine following this on my own." It was difficult to keep the anger out of his voice, but he somehow managed it. Still, that didn't change the fact that Sam and Dean would be hunting a potential pack of werewolves all by themselves. "If I don't find anything before the hunt is over I'll come and join you." Then he added, "Perhaps you should take your mother with you. For an extra set of hands."

Dean glanced at Sam and the younger brother shrugged. "I guess we could see what Mom is doing. Pick her up on the way."

"Okay, as long as you're sure you won't need any help, Cas," Dean said.

Castiel felt a warmth seep into him, one he didn't feel like he deserved anymore. Not after his deal with Mick Davies. After the incident with Lily Sunder, Sam and Dean both had seemed determined to help him in any way they could. They had finally seemed to work through all their rocky issues to be family again. As had Mary, even if she was still off on her own. At least Sam and Dean were on good terms with her. Castiel knew that them finding out about his new job could ruin all of that. It made him sick.

"Well, I should probably go. Good hunting," Castiel said, not wanting to give them more of an opportunity to catch him in his lie. "Let me know if you need any help."

"You too, Cas," Dean told him.

Castiel retreated outside to his truck and pulled his phone from his pocket. He checked it and found the text from Mick with the meeting point where Ketch was waiting for him. Castiel sighed heavily and climbed into his truck. Best to get this over with.

                                                                                                    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel pulled up at the diner where he was to meet with Ketch. He tried to gather his composure before he got out of the car and went inside. He spotted the Englishman sitting in the back of the diner and strode over to sit across from him.

Ketch barely glanced up from his cup of tea. "Hello, angel."

Castiel glowered at him. "My name is Castiel—or Cas, if that's too long for you to remember."

Ketch quirked an eyebrow. "My, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed. But I think I will continue to call you simply by what you are. It is easier that way."

Castiel bristled but wasn't in the mood to get into an argument. He figured Dean would say something like, 'Well, if that's the case, I'll just call you dick,' but insults would do little good, and he wanted this job to be over as quickly as possible. "Where is this nest we are supposed to take out?"

"While I like straight to the point, I would also like to finish my breakfast, even though the Americans don't know how to serve it—or tea for that matter." He pulled a face as he took up his cup. He reached over to a bag set beside his chair and pulled out a file. "You may look at this while I finish."

Castiel took the file and flipped through the information there. It seemed like a routine vampire hunt. Hopefully it wouldn't take them too long. He might even be able to finish with it and get back to the Winchesters before they went to take out the werewolves.

Ketch finished his meal and dabbed his lips with a napkin before throwing some cash onto the table. "Let's go."

Castiel noticed he had forgone his usual three-piece suit for a black jacket and jeans and combat boots. Ketch motioned to a black motorcycle parked a few yards away.

"You'll have to follow me. I trust you won't get lost."

Castiel glared. "I think I can manage."

"Wonderful." Ketch went to his motorcycle and Castiel turned to his truck, starting it up and waiting for the Englishman to pull out ahead so he could follow him. He hated everything about this, but the quicker they could get this done, the quicker he could get back to helping Sam and Dean and that was all he really cared about.

It was only a couple hours' drive to the hunting spot, and Castiel pulled off the road when Ketch did, parking in a wooded area that opened into a field further on. There was an old barn in the middle of the field, and Castiel recalled it from the pictures in the file as the place the vampires were hiding out.

Castiel turned off the engine and stepped out of the truck, as Ketch dismounted from his motorcycle, pulling his helmet off and settling it on the seat.

"What's the attack plan?" Castiel asked.

Ketch barely glanced at him as he looked out toward the barn. "They'll be asleep this time of day with any luck. I thought you could go in the front and create a distraction while I go in the back so they will have nowhere to run. Then we can take them out from both sides."

Castiel snorted. "You mean you'll come in after they all rush me together?"

Ketch gave him a small smirk. "You're an angel. Smite them."

Castiel seethed. "Not that it's any concern of yours, I'm sure, but I don't have my full grace anymore. Smiting large groups of anything, isn't exactly on the menu."

"Well, we all have our personal problems, don't we," Ketch said in a condescending way. "I'm the team leader. We go with my plan. Now, get off with you."

Castiel glared at him but started to trudge across the overgrown field toward the barn.

It was so quiet he wondered whether the vampires were there at all. But then, it was the middle of the day and vampires rarely traveled out in the full sunlight if they could help it. It would give them horrible sunburns.

There was nowhere Castiel could look into the barn before he went in. The only windows were too high up to see through, so he had no choice but to just push the door open.

It creaked and he winced, clutching his angel blade tightly, ready for any surprise attacks. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him so that the vampires wouldn't have an easy escape rout, and looked around.

It was actually cleaner than he would expect. Slightly old, but not rotting apart. There were chairs and a television at one corner and a refrigerator that must have held blood. Which was odd. Usually vampires didn't much care about stocking up. Maybe these didn't always attack people. After all, Sam and Dean hadn't found any red flags in the area previously, and it was close enough that they probably would have heard something if vampires were going on killing sprees.

But that wasn't his concern right now. He needed to find out where the vampires were.

He could hear shifting up above, and looked up to see a loft. That must be where the vampires were sleeping. He was about to go find Ketch and relate this information to him, when a floorboard creaked behind Castiel, and he spun around to see a huge vampire with an angry expression on his face.

"What are you doing here?" the vampire demanded. "You're trespassing."

"I assume this is your nest," Castiel said, and the vampire nodded once in acknowledgement.

"We weren't looking for trouble," the vampire said. "We have been trying to figure out ways to get more blood without killing people."

Castiel nodded toward the fridge. "So you're stealing from clinics instead? It could still cost lives."

"It's better than the alternative, isn't it?" the vampire demanded and Castiel had to admit he agreed with him. "So you're a hunter, right? I know what you think you gotta do, but know this: if you try to hurt my family, I'll kill you, and I'm not going to feel bad about it. So I'll give you one chance to leave and just let us be."

"I can't do that," Castiel said.

"Why?"

"Because I won't allow him to."

Castiel looked behind the vampire where Ketch had crept out of the shadows. The vampire didn't have a chance to defend himself before the Englishman swung his machete and cleanly cut off the vampire's head. It thudded to the ground and the body slumped beside it.

"Good work keeping it distracted," Ketch said, looking up at Castiel.

Castiel was about to say something, but by then the other vampires were stirring. Whether they had been woken by the noise, or the smell of their leader's blood, they were getting up.

"Ah, show time," Ketch said almost happily, with a look of excitement shining in his eyes.

Castiel buried his scathing remarks as the vampires began to descend, five in all. Anger and grief was obvious on their faces as they saw their dead leader.

"You filthy hunters!" one snarled and leapt forward, right toward Ketch.

That was all the invitation the others needed. They charged toward Castiel and the Brit, almost overwhelming them right off. But Castiel was ready and he kicked one away as he faced off with a second. The vampire snarled, fangs in evidence. Castiel dodged out of the way of a lunge and swiftly swiped his angel blade with a two-handed blow at the vampire's neck, severing its head.

He was grabbed from behind, the vampire's arms tightening around his throat, choking him, and he stabbed backwards, catching his attacker in the thigh, but even though the vampire howled in pain, it only tightened its hold. A female vampire came up in front of him, and grabbed his sword arm, ripping the blade from his grasp.

"I will kill you slow, hunter," she sneered and the vampire behind Castiel yanked his head back by his hair to expose his throat as the female lunged forward to sink her teeth into Castiel's flesh.

He felt the bite of fangs, but only briefly before they were ripped away, taking a hunk of his flesh with them. Castiel gasped and felt more blood spray over his face and chest as the vampire was beheaded.

He opened his eyes and saw Ketch standing with his machete, looking rather blasé about the whole situation. Castiel heard the vampire behind him snarl and swung his head back to slam into the vampire's face. His attacker staggered back and Castiel picked up his sword as he saw Ketch fly into an old horse stall with a yelp. Castiel figured the Brit could take care of himself though and concentrated on facing off with his other opponent. The vampire was wary, but no less angry. He charged at the angel with a desperate snarl, and Castiel scored a slice to his opponent's ribs before he spun around and took that vampire's head off too.

He looked around to see Ketch still lying in the stall, kicking the last vampire backwards. Castiel strode over and simply beheaded the vampire, thus ending the fight.

He looked around at all the bodies, having some mixed feelings about this hunt. They were vampires, yes, but if what their sire had said was true, they were trying to reform. Just trying to live their life as best they could, and Castiel and Ketch had come in and slaughtered them. He wondered what Sam and Dean would have done.

Ketch grunted as he pulled himself to his feet, favoring his left shoulder. "Well, you do know how to clean up a fight. It looks like you'll be a decent asset after all."

Castiel ignored him, touching a hand to the side of his neck. He could feel his grace starting to heal it sluggishly. His healing was not at it's best anymore, since Lucifer had inhabited him and then been ripped out. But it wasn't the worst wound he had ever received either.

"Do you mind?" Ketch asked, motioning to his shoulder, which Castiel figured was probably dislocated.

He glared, and took several steps over to the Englishman. He placed two fingers on Ketch's forehead and forced an angry burst of grace into him to heal his injury. Ketch actually gasped at the sudden snap as his shoulder was forced back into place. Castiel never would have healed the Winchesters like this, always trying to take as much of their pain away as he was able to, but Ketch didn't deserve a nice bedside manner. Castiel hid a smile at the almost indignant look on the Englishman's face.

"If the hunt is over, I will be going," he said.

"Not so fast, angel," Ketch told him. "We have to report to Mr. Davies before you run off again."

Castiel bristled angrily. "I don't have time for that. I was already needed elsewhere when I was called to help you."

Ketch looked like he was going to say something, but then closed his mouth. "I'll call him and see what he wants done." He pulled his phone out of his pocket while Castiel attempted to 'mojo' his clothes clean. By the time the blood was gone and the wound in his neck was healed fully, he was feeling rundown, especially after healing Ketch too. It made him angry, how easy it was for him to get tired and strung out these days. But there was nothing he could do about it. He supposed he should be grateful he could still heal at all.

"Very well, I'll be there," Ketch said, ending his call with Mick Davies and turning to Castiel with an unreadable expression. "Davies says there's no need for you to be at the briefing. You are simply an asset, after all, and I can easily give the report needed without your help. You may go. We'll call you next time your services are needed."

Castiel glowered but nodded sharply and strode out of the barn. He figured the Men of Letters would handle the clean up since that was what they were so adamant about in the first place.

He walked back to his truck and pulled out his cellphone when he got into the cab. He saw a text from Sam, telling him they had met with Mary and started their investigation. Castiel quickly replied with, Lead turned out to be a dead end. I'm heading to you.

And with that, he left Arthur Ketch and the dead vampires in the dust and drove back to Kansas.

                                                                                                     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was almost midnight by the time he got to the town the Winchesters were hunting werewolves in. He didn't want to admit how tired he was, but he would still rather hunt with them, even exhausted, than he would with Ketch any day.

He drove to the hotel Sam had given him the address for, and saw the Impala sitting outside the door, along with Mary's car. He hoped he had caught them before the hunt, even though moonrise had been a couple hours ago. But as he went to the door and Dean opened it to his knock, Castiel saw a bruise on the side of his face and his heart sank.

"Hey, Cas," the hunter sounded exhausted and held himself as if his body was aching. Castiel frowned at him as he went inside.

"Why didn't you wait for me? I said I was on the way," he said, worry tinting his voice with annoyance.

"Didn't have any choice," Dean grunted, closing the door behind him. "One of 'em took a girl, and she would have died if we had waited any longer."

"We weren't ready as it was," came Sam's voice from nearby and Castiel looked over to see the younger Winchester sitting on one of the beds. His jeans were cut up one leg to reveal several deep claw marks running from mid-thigh to a few inches past his knee. Sam's pale and drawn appearance told of the pain he was in and how much blood he had lost. Mary sat beside him, cleaning the wounds.

"Sam," Castiel said, guilt overcoming him, mixing with a good dose of anger. "Are you alright?"

"I'll live," Sam replied and winced as his mother pressed harder, and Mary apologized.

"There were more than we anticipated," Dean told Castiel grimly as he ran a hand over his face. "We got jumped but were lucky enough to get out of there alive with the girl."

"These are going to need stitches," Mary told them, and stood from the bed to go rummage through the first aid kit.

"Wait," Castiel told her and went over to Sam.

The younger Winchester looked up at him. "Hold on, Cas, are you good to heal me?"

Castiel wanted to be angry, but he was actually touched that Sam and Dean both were careful, especially recently, to never demand anything of him. Making a point to treat him like the family they had always professed him to be. But he had recovered sufficiently since the incident with Lily Sunder and Isham and he could easily perform one more healing that night, especially for one of his family.

"I'm fine," he told Sam. "No arguments." He reached over to touch Sam's head and, despite his exhaustion, healed him more gently than he had Ketch earlier. Sam's wounds knitted closed and he breathed a sigh of relief as the pain faded. He smiled up at the angel.

"Thanks, Cas."

"It's the least I can do since I didn't get here in time."

Sam gingerly swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I'm going to take a shower." He said, then cast a glance at Dean before turning back to Cas. "And Dean isn't going to mention it, but he has a few cracked ribs."

"Sam," Dean growled but even that made him wince.

"Stop being stubborn," Mary told him firmly and smiled at Castiel. The angel smiled back and shook his head, ignoring Dean's protests as he touched his forehead and healed his injuries as well. He instantly marked the change in Dean's breathing after the healing and Dean reluctantly sagged.

"Thanks, Cas, you didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did, you're family," Castiel told him firmly. "You would do the same for me if you had the ability."

Dean smiled and that small acknowledgement tore Castiel's heart apart. He didn't deserve it, not after what he had done, going behind the Winchesters' backs to work with their enemies—the same people who had kidnapped and tortured Sam. He knew from experience that these kinds of things always blew up eventually with catastrophic results and he had no doubt that this one would do the same.

He supposed he should be grateful it didn't turn out worse this time.

Castiel buried his rage as best he could so as not to alert the Winchesters. But if the British Men of Letters wanted his service, then they were just going to have to learn that they couldn't conflict with Castiel helping the Winchesters. And if they didn't want to understand that, then Castiel was going to make sure they did in the future.

Because his family always came first.


	3. The Weight

 

Over the next couple weeks, Castiel worked several more jobs with the British Men of Letters. Sometimes Mick Davies sent out a whole team when they had bigger hunts, but most of the time it was just him and Arthur Ketch, who Castiel was fast getting weary of with the Englishman's condescending attitude and his reckless ideals when it came to fighting. Castiel hadn't had any hunt yet where he hadn't almost been taken out or badly injured due to the lack of someone watching his back. If he had been human, he probably would have been killed by now. But whenever he made mention of it, Ketch just gave him that small smirk that made him feel more like a tolerated pet than a sentient being.

As a result, he was almost always weary, and a lot of times had to expend extra energy just to heal himself—or Ketch and the other Men of Letters operatives when they were injured. None of them ever even thanked him for it, and oftentimes, he had to take a recharge nap in his truck before heading back to the bunker in order to heal himself faster so the Winchesters wouldn't know.

But he could tell they suspected something. Whenever he did get a chance to return to the bunker, Sam and Dean would often share glances behind his back; worry, possibly even suspicion, clouding their eyes. Castiel hoped they would put it up to his 'obsession' with finding Kelly Kline—which had actually turned out to be a good cover—but in truth, he hadn't had much of a chance to look for her at all, making him even angrier about his situation than he had been previously.

On the most current hunt, he and Ketch had taken out a group of rogue demons who had been Lucifer loyalists and there had been more of them than Castiel expected. More than just two people should have been able to handle. But as usual, Ketch had run in so sure of himself and his gadgets that Castiel had little choice but to follow. He honestly wanted to let the Englishman run in and suffer the consequences one of these days, but didn't want to have to deal with the repercussions of that. So Castiel had saved his hide again, and gotten wounded for it.

One of the demons had an angel blade, and Castiel had taken a blow to the side while he had been focused on a demon who was about to stab Ketch in the back.

Ketch had finally been able to activate his mass exorcism gadget, but it did Castiel little good by then.

He slumped against the wall, hand pressed to his wound as blood and grace were leaking out, while he watched Ketch check the limp bodies to make sure all the demons had been exorcised.

"Another job done," the Englishman said with satisfaction. "You may go." He barely even gave Castiel a second glance.

The angel almost blew up there, but he was honestly too exhausted to form the words. His anger boiled inside of him as he pushed off the wall and limped back to his truck.

He healed as much of his wound as he could, but if he expended any more energy, he wouldn't be able to see straight enough to drive, and all he wanted was his bed at the bunker. He was too tired to even care about having to field questions with the Winchesters. If they were still awake, he would come up with something.

As it was, he entered the dimly lit bunker, the blood on his shirt pretty much concealed by his coat, and tried to be as quiet as possible. Of course, Winchesters were inherently bad sleepers, so he should have known that someone would be up.

"Cas? Hey, man, I wasn't expecting you back yet."

Castiel looked into the library to see Dean sitting at one of the tables with his laptop and a glass of whisky.

"I wasn't either," Castiel said and tried to slip past the library to move deeper into the bunker.

"Whoa, hey, Cas, no need to run off," Dean said and pushed his chair back to stand. "I haven't seen you for a while. I guess this was another dead end?"

"They're all dead ends," Castiel snapped, his anger from earlier sparking before he could stop it. "I'm never going to find Kelly Kline before the baby is born—I don't even know what I'm going to do when I do find her! If I had any time to think about it, I would probably be able to come up with something more fruitful!" He felt suddenly light headed and he closed his eyes, steadying himself with one hand against the wall, his other unconsciously going toward his wound before he could stop himself.

"Cas, are you alright?" Dean asked, suddenly at his side.

"I'm fine," the angel tried to protest.

"That's blood," Dean pointed out unhelpfully and grabbed Castiel's shoulder so he couldn't leave. "Let me see. Did you run into trouble or something?"

"Dean, it's mostly healed," Castiel said, and it was true, he had been able to close the wound, it had just been deeper than he had realized at first and healing the rest was taking longer, and sapping his energy.

"That's not the answer I was looking for," Dean said blandly.

"I just need some rest."

"Yeah, but dude, what have you been getting up to?" Dean asked him, worry clear in his voice.

Castiel huffed a sigh and made up yet another lie. "I ran into a couple demons while searching for Kelly; one had an angel blade and I wasn't quite quick enough taking them out. That's all."

Dean's face hardened in the same way it always did when Sam tried to brush stuff off. "Yeah, and this is exactly why Sam and I offered to go with you."

"No, it's not necessary," Castiel grunted, inwardly pleading with Dean not to push the matter. "This wasn't even related. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Dean's lips thinned out into a line. "Okay, whatever, but while you're here, at least let me take a look at that."

"Dean…"

"Cas," Dean cut in firmly. "Come on."

The angel huffed, but consented, and sat in one of the library chairs, unbuttoning his shirt grudgingly so Dean could inspect the wound. It was pretty much closed, but the elder Winchester still cursed as the length of the scar.

"You're not bleeding inside, are you?" Dean demanded.

"Not anymore," Castiel told him honestly.

"Dammit, Cas," Dean sighed as he straightened and rubbed a hand over his face. "Look, I already told you that you don't have to do this stuff alone."

Castiel shook his head, knowing he needed to come up with something now, because if Dean dug much deeper, he would spill the truth out of pure frustration if nothing else. "Dean, listen. I appreciate all the help you and Sam give, I really do, but this is my problem. I let Lucifer out of the Cage, and I took my eye off Kelly and allowed her to escape. It's my fault she's out there with Lucifer's spawn."

"Cas, this is not all on you, okay?" Dean tried.

"But it is, Dean!" Castiel cried. "If it were you, what would you do?"

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I'd want to go out and clean up my mess, but man, this whole 'I can do it myself' is feeling a lot like that penance crap again, and I thought you were over that."

"This isn't penance," Castiel growled. "This is proving that I can fix my own messes. I need this, Dean."

"But if it's gonna get you hurt…"

"I can take care of myself! I'm not a child, I'm not you're little brother, I'm a damn angel of the Lord!" Castiel snapped, pushing himself to his feet and feeling his wound protest. He gripped the table edge so hard his knuckles whitened and when he looked up at Dean, he saw the elder Winchester's face had gone blank, trying not to show the emotion that was obvious in his eyes. Guilt instantly crashed over Castiel, along with pure weariness.

"Dean, I—"

"No, you're right, Cas," Dean cut in quickly, nodding jerkily and squaring his jaw. "You're right, and I'm sorry if I treat you that way, but man, you are my brother, and I'm not going to apologize for wanting to keep you from getting yourself killed. I'm just sorry you don't feel the same."

"No, Dean, that's not what I meant…"

"No, you were clear enough, you don't have to explain yourself further," Dean said in a hard voice, and spun on his heel toward the dormitory wing. "Let Sam and me know if you change your mind, though."

Any words Castiel might have said caught in his throat. His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he decided that the next time he saw Ketch or Mick Davies, he might just punch them in the face on principle. He hadn't wanted to upset Dean; after all, they had just barely gotten all their issues worked out. But just as he suspected, his partnership with the British Men of Letters was starting to cause issues between him and the Winchesters. He just hoped it didn't go any farther.

He decided he was going to try to apologize to Dean in the morning. Knowing his friend, it would be pointless to try and say anything else that night. Right now, he needed to rest.

Castiel went toward the dormitory wing and found his room. It was still rather plain, but he hadn't exactly been staying in the bunker so much lately. He just used it when he needed to rest for a few hours to recover from his missions. This one had definitely been one of the worst yet, and Castiel knew they weren't likely going to get better from here.

But he was too weary to really think of anything. He shrugged off his coat and bloody clothes and climbed under the blankets. At least he still had someplace he could rest, although, if the Men of Letters kept coming between him and the Winchesters, Castiel was honestly not sure how much longer he would be welcome here. He supposed he should just be grateful while it lasted.

                                                                                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean woke early, already not having slept well the night before. He wasn't going to lie, he was starting to get worried about Cas. His friend had been gone off and on a lot the last couple months looking for Kelly Kline and while Dean totally understood his dedication, he also felt that Cas was overworking himself. The fact he had come back with a stab wound to the side the night before only made it more clear that he was getting a little reckless. It wasn't that Dean didn't think Cas was capable of looking after himself. Like Cas had said, he was an angel after all, but Dean of all people knew how dangerous it could be to just keep going down a road of guilt, trying to fix your own mistakes. It could make you reckless and give you tunnel vision until you only saw the goal in mind and couldn't always be bothered to worry about other things like self-preservation.

But even though he understood that, he couldn't help but feel that there was something Cas was keeping from the rest of them. He hadn't been quite this bad at first, and sure, he knew it was getting closer and closer to the time the baby was going to be born, and they were running out of time with still no good leads, but he didn't think that would make Cas so defensive and…almost secretive if he was being honest. Cas never really told them where he was going, or what the leads he found actually were, and Dean was starting to wonder if there was something else entirely going on. He really hoped not, especially after they had finally seemed to make some headway into making sure Cas knew he was family.

But then again, maybe Dean was just overthinking the whole thing. Maybe—probably—he was just paranoid. Cas had to be tired and frustrated following so many dead ends, and it was no wonder it made him a bit cranky. Heck, he was more than entitled. Still, Dean couldn't really ignore what his gut was telling him, especially since his gut was usually right.

"Hey."

He looked up to see Sam coming into the kitchen with a yawn. Dean nodded to the coffee pot, which was mostly full, and Sam nodded gratefully as he poured a cup and sat down across the table from Dean.

"Did Cas get in last night?" he asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, after midnight sometime. He got stabbed by a demon."

Sam's eyes widened, looking over his shoulder toward the dormitory ward. "Is he okay?"

"It was already mostly healed by the time he got back. He's sleeping it off though," Dean said, worry not entirely concealed in his voice. While he knew Cas would be okay, it bothered him that the angel didn't seem to be healing as quickly as he once was since the Lucifer fiasco. Even the beating Isham had given him after the Lily Sunder case had taken him a couple days to heal from fully. He looked past Sam's shoulder to make sure Cas wasn't coming into the room before he lowered his voice. "He seem alright to you, lately?"

Sam frowned thoughtfully. "I mean, he's been busy, and tired. I know how frustrating it can be to keep coming up with dead end leads," he offered.

"Yeah," Dean said, still unconvinced.

"Why, you think something else is up?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged, trying to tamp down his fears, especially if Sam hadn't really noticed anything he thought was off. Okay, he was probably just paranoid. "I guess not. It's just this whole thing, him killing Billie, I'm just still waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know?"

Sam nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I get it. But Cas knows he can come to us if he needs anything."

"I know." If only he would. Dean heard footsteps in the hall and shot Sam a look to end the conversation. A few second later, Cas appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, and Dean was glad to see he at least looked a little better. He was less pale, and though he had some dark circles under his eyes, he looked more alert than usual of late.

"Well, you're finally up," he said casually. "Want some coffee?"

Cas glanced toward the sideboard that held the machine and cups and went to pour himself one with only a second's hesitation. Then he went to sit down at the table next to Sam.

"How's your wound?" Sam asked. "Dean told me you had been injured."

Castiel gave them a slightly longsuffering look but shrugged. "It's completely healed now. Being able to rest helped."

"So, Cas, do you need any help researching stuff on Kelly Kline?" Sam asked. "There's nothing else we're doing right now. I can help you look around. I already checked to see if she might have left the country but didn't see any indication of that. But then, you never know. Something else might come up."

Castiel sighed, taking a long draft of his coffee. "I appreciate it, Sam. Perhaps I could use some help."

"Great, we can start looking after breakfast," Sam said and stood up from the table. "I'm going to go get dressed."

Dean got up too, awake enough to make breakfast now, and heard Cas clear his throat awkwardly behind him.

"Dean," the angel said and Dean half turned around, glancing over his shoulder.

"Yeah, Cas?" He said it a bit more tersely than he had intended, but he was still a little bit sore from last night.

Cas looked slightly grieved. "Dean, what I said last night…I was frustrated and I said things I didn't mean because of it. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Dean pressed his lips into a thin line, giving up his search for breakfast for the moment. "Look, Cas, whether you meant it or not, I get it. And I'm sorry if I treat you like you can't handle yourself sometimes, because I definitely don't think that. I just want you to tell me if you need help and not feel ashamed about it. That's all."

Cas sighed deeply. "I know. Which is why what I said was out of line. The truth is, Dean, that you and Sam are the only family I have. I am so grateful for everything you have done, everything you have given me. Sometimes I just get frustrated with my weakness. My grace is not what it once was, and I can't help but think that I would be much more use if I was at full power."

"Maybe," Dean consented. "But no matter whether you're a full power angel, or human, or somewhere in between, you're still our brother, Cas. There's nothing that's gonna change that. Okay? Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with us."

Cas offered a small smile. "I suppose there are worse fates."

Dean raised his eyes at the sarcasm, and smiled back. "Yeah, well, considering what you've already been through because of us, probably not. But I appreciate you sticking around all the same." He shrugged and went back to making breakfast. "So what I'm saying is, I forgive you. Hell, part of being family is fighting, Cas. That just makes you stronger."

"I suppose you are right," Cas replied.

"You bet I am," Dean told him and grabbed the eggs from the fridge. "Now, eggs and bacon are the best thing to get you back to full strength, so don't bother arguing. Angel or not, you could still use some food."

Cas huffed a sigh but didn't protest either. Dean cast a look at his friend as he made the breakfast. Cas seemed okay for the most part. Maybe Dean was just seeing things after all. That would certainly be a first, but he wasn't exactly going to complain if he was wrong this once.

Maybe for once, things weren't totally falling apart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~                       

A few days resting at the bunker and Castiel was fully recovered from the wound. He had been mostly fine that first day after, especially with near eight hours of sleep and Dean insisting he eat, but it had been nice to have a couple extra days to rest up.

Sam had also been helping him look for Kelly Kline, trying to track down any obscure lead they could to see whether they could find any trace of her. So far they had turned up more of the same—nothing—but it felt good to at least be working on their main problem again.

And then, inevitably, the call came.

Castiel was sitting in the library with the Winchesters, looking through online newspaper articles for any leads on the case of the missing presidential aide when his phone rang, nearly startling him.

Sam and Dean looked up at him in surprise and he hurriedly stood up, grabbing his phone from his pocket and seeing that it was, obviously, Mick Davies again.

"Um…I have to take this," Castiel said awkwardly, hurrying from the room, leaving the Winchester's incredulous stares behind him, as he tapped the phone to answer the call. "What?" he demanded.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything," Mick's perpetually cheerful voice came over the phone. "We have another job for you. We need you to leave as soon as possible. I'll text you the address."

"Fine, it's not like I have anything better to do," Castiel growled and hung up the call before Mick could say anything else. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply to try and dissipate his anger before he went back to the library.

"Who was that?" Dean nearly demanded, and, of course, it was a bit odd for Cas to get a call from anyone but them. The only other people he had in his contacts lists were Claire and, unfortunately, Crowley, since they had been working together.

Castiel searched for a lie, and decided the most plausible one. "Just…a contact. They gave me another lead on Kelly to check out."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "A contact? Who?"

Castiel searched for an answer, and then reluctantly went with the easiest one. "Crowley," he said, and thankfully the false admission gave reason for his hesitation.

"Seriously?" Dean asked.

Castiel sighed. "Yes…I have had so few good leads, I…figured he was the best person to call."

"Well, I guess he does have his reasons to help," Sam admitted. "Though we haven't seen him around much since we put Lucifer back in the cage."

"I'm sure he's busy with getting hell back in order," Castiel said. "But this is a promising lead and I need to go."

"Whoa, hey," Dean said, standing up. "You want us to come with you this time?"

"Yeah, if this is such a promising lead, you might need some backup," Sam added.

"That's not necessary," Castiel said quickly, pleading that the elder Winchester would not to push the point.

Of course, this was Dean so he should have known better. The hunter crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, and last time you got stabbed by a demon."

"Which was the only time I've run into trouble," Castiel grunted.

"Cas, it's really no trouble," Sam offered, more congenially than his brother. "We don't have any hunts right now, let us go with you."

Castiel sighed. "Sam, Dean, no. It's not far, and it's probably just going to be another dead end. It would be pointless for you two to come."

"Cas—"

"Dean," Castiel cut in. "If I need help, I promise I will call. But unless that happens, stay here and keep looking. If this is another dead end, then we will just be back at square one."

Dean looked like he was going to protest again, and probably would have if Sam hadn't shot him a look. The elder Winchester gave a grunt and threw his hands up. "Okay, fine, but seriously, Cas. If you really need help, don't just try to be a hero. This mission might be important, but it's not worth your life."

"No way," Sam agreed firmly. "You need help, we'll be there. Just don't forget that."

Despite the situation, and his essential betrayal, Castiel felt his heart warm at the devotion Sam and Dean were showing him. But that feeling was soon replaced by the sick twist in his belly when he realized that he didn't deserve this since he was working with the enemy behind their backs. He swallowed hard, and nodded, hoping his discomfort would be accepted as a result of emotion from their words.

"Thank you," he managed to say.

He spent little time readying himself to go, grabbing some weapons and his keys and heading out to his truck. He cast one last glance toward the bunker before he started the engine and clenched his jaw. He reminded himself again that as much as he hated it, he would do anything to keep his family safe.

Even work with the insufferable Mick Davies and Mr. Ketch.

 


	4. No Exit

 

Castiel felt instant loathing as he saw Mick Davies' car parked next to the curb about a block away from a local park. Being the early afternoon, there weren't that many people in the park, but Castiel hadn't failed to notice that the last couple meetings they'd called him to had taken place in increasingly public places. Castiel had started to wonder whether Mick expected him to simply attack them and was hoping he would be deterred by civilians. Castiel wasn't going to lie, he had thought about it, but knew it would do little good, and they probably had something that would be able to take him down before he could kill them both anyway.

He swung his door open and stepped out before slamming it angrily. Mick and Ketch were already out of the car by the time Castiel strode over to them. Mick nodded a greeting, but Ketch just stood there with his hands in his pockets, typical expression on his face that managed to make him look both disinterested and like he was taking in every aspect of your being and trying to figure out how best to take you down at the same time. Castiel didn't like it one bit.

"What is it this time?" he asked gruffly.

"A clean up job," Mick said without preamble. Thankfully, he had given up a lot of the flowery niceties after he realized how little it did to help Castiel's mood. "It's come to our attention that there is an active pack of werewolves too close to Topeka for comfort and we need them taken out."

Castiel frowned in confusion and not a little annoyance as that information sounded all too familiar. "The Winchesters took out that pack last month."

"Not quite," Ketch said, a look of mild disgust on his face. "As usual, they didn't bother to clean up after themselves. There are still three to four rogue werewolves running amok and they will continue to kill if we do not take them out."

"That many?" Castiel asked without bothering to veil his sarcasm. "And you couldn't do that with your own team?"

Ketch smiled but his irritation was obvious. "Of course we can. But Davies figured that you should get first dibs since it was your human friends' hunt first. And so that you fully appreciate how many times we have to go along behind and sweep up the crumbs after the Winchesters go in, guns blazing, as they are wont to do."

Castiel bristled. "You know, Sam and Dean were both injured on that hunt because they needed another person to help with that many werewolves. They could have died and I was hunting a nest of vampires with you; vampires who were reformed and therefor not nearly the threat these werewolves were. You should have chosen to take the werewolves out before. This one's on you."

"We didn't know about them at the time," Mick replied.

Castiel raised his eyebrows. "Well, Sam and Dean did, which leads me to think that they know more about this job than you do. They have been doing this for years, their way, and it works. Your way may work in Britain, but this is how we hunt in America."

"Oh, we're quite aware of how Americans hunt," Ketch said drolly. "Hunters are cowboys. They think of the job as romantic and because of that, they lack sufficiency."

"They've also stopped the end of the world several times," Castiel countered. "How many apocalypses have you averted?"

"That's enough, boys," Mick cut in quickly. He turned to Castiel. "You do realize that the more you help us clean up Sam and Dean's messes, the fewer reasons we'll have to get in their way." Mick nodded to Ketch. "Now go help Mr. Ketch take down the stragglers."

Castiel ground his teeth, wanting to punch Mick in his falsely pleasant smile—he hadn't wanted to punch someone this much since Metatron. "Very well."

"Glad we see eye to eye," the Englishman said and turned back to Ketch. "Good hunting."

Ketch smiled. "It always is." He jerked his head toward Castiel. "Come, angel."

Castiel had no choice but to obey, even though every fiber of his being told him not to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn't far, thankfully, but Castiel hated trying to make his truck keep up with Ketch's motorcycle, and he knew the Englishman made it even more difficult on purpose. But his truck was old and he let it go the speed it wanted to. He knew where he was going and if Ketch got there too quickly, then he was more than welcome to go in and start the hunt himself. Castiel had no qualms about watching his back since the favor was never returned.

He was, however, able to keep up with Ketch without too much trouble and they made it to their destination in good time. Unlike vampires, werewolves didn't need to sleep during the day, even though some of them probably did. But especially since these were the pure blood werewolves who could chance whenever they wanted, not just when there was a full moon, there was even less reason for them to be asleep during the daytime.

Thus, Ketch had decided that the best time to surprise them was late afternoon. Before dark, so they wouldn't have the advantage of being able to see better, but before they went out on any hunting trips they might have planned for dinner.

Castiel watched as Ketch fiddled with what looked to be a high-powered crossbow that shot silver bolts. Castiel shook his head.

"Why not just use a gun?" he asked.

"Oh, I could, of course, but this is just as accurate and so much more fun," Ketch told him. "When you kill as many monsters as I do, you start to look for ways to make it more interesting."

Castiel shook his head in disgust. "Maybe you can try getting your intestines ripped out tonight. That would certainly make it interesting."

Ketch looked over at him with a small smile. "Even if I do, I have an angel on call to heal me. So, I suppose even that would only be, at most, a mild inconvenience."

Castiel made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and drew his angel blade out of his coat. "Let's just get this over with."

Ketch didn't argue and the two of them left their vehicles and headed toward the old warehouse that the werewolves were supposed to be hiding out after the Winchesters had found the location of their former place. Castiel mused vaguely how Dean would probably make a joke about werewolves in a warehouse, which would then make Sam roll his eyes. Castiel missed hunting with the Winchesters. Missed having someone who actually cared enough to make sure you got out of the hunt alive. Of course, he couldn't really complain; the lack of feelings Ketch offered him was mutual, after all.

"Let me guess," Castiel said blandly as they reached the warehouse. "You want me to go in the front."

Ketch offered him a beaming smile. "If you would be so inclined." Then he simply continued on around the building to find the least conspicuous way inside. Castiel growled under his breath, gripped his angel blade tighter, and stepped forward to pull open the door.

He didn't see anything at first, in fact, the whole place was rather dark, and that instantly put him on alert. Something didn't feel right. There was no sound in the building, but there was too much nothing. Castiel reached out with his heightened senses and was able to detect several heartbeats and some heavy breathing, just in time for him to bring up his blade as he detected something flying through the air with a blood-curdling growl.

Castiel was unable to help a yell of surprise as he swung around and slashed with his blade. He knew he hit something because he heard an animalistic yelp, and smelled the metallic tang of fresh blood.

That was when another shape, much larger than the first one, loomed out of the darkness from the corner of Castiel's eyes and barreled into him before he had a chance to react. Castiel was flung backwards, only to stop short against what felt like a metal support beam or something. Whatever it was, he hit it hard and felt several ribs crack from the impact. He let out a breathless scream as his body thumped to the floor, pain singing through every nerve. It was only then, as he felt, rather than saw, the werewolf come toward him again, that he realized he had dropped his blade during the impact. He quickly scrambled for it, but it wasn't close enough to hand for him to grab before the werewolf picked him up and flung him again. This time Castiel skidded across the floor.

When he came to a stop, he forced himself to his feet, gritting his teeth at the pain in his side. He clutched his broken ribs, trying to heal them at least a little bit so he didn't puncture a lung on top of it, but his grace was slow, and the werewolf was coming at him again. He heard the clatter and scrape of metal against the floor and had a bad feeling that one of them had found his blade.

Now would be a good time for Ketch to show up, Castiel thought sardonically.

And amazingly, there he was. The Englishman was running lightly through the shadows, and Castiel heard a slight fwhip sound of the crossbow bolt singing through the air, and another yelp as it hit a target.

Castiel was about to find the werewolf who had his blade and take it back, when Ketch took something from his belt and scraped it against the wall before throwing it into the room. Castiel shielding his eyes at the sudden flare of light, as the flash bomb Ketch lit bloomed into life.

He could hear angry shouts from the werewolves who were completely disoriented with the bright light, and looked around for the nearest enemy, hearing Ketch running around, probably trying to take as many out as he could before the flare ran out.

The huge werewolf that Castiel had faced earlier suddenly loomed out of the light, and Castiel went on defense, barely registering that the werewolf did in fact have his blade. He made a lunge for it, grabbing the werewolf's wrist, but the wolf was having none of it. He swatted Castiel with a huge, clawed hand, throwing him to his knees and agitating his already broken ribs, while opening Castiel's lower back with his claws at the same time.

Castiel cried out, and tried to stop the next blow, which the werewolf was preparing by raising Castiel's own blade up over him. The werewolf sneered and slammed his free fist into Castiel's face, before he slashed down with the blade.

Castiel wasn't sure what the wolf was actually aiming for—probably his neck—but the blade instead sliced across his shoulder blades, cutting past the flesh of his vessel and into his true form, catching the base of his wing in the process.

The agony that tore through him made him scream and collapse onto the ground. He was only vaguely aware of what was going on around him now, in fact, the next thing he was aware of was that the noise had stopped, all apart from a pitiful whimpering that was quickly cut short. The place wasn't burning with light anymore either, so Castiel must have blacked out for at least a few minutes.

He tried to take mental stock of his injuries. The ribs, and the claw marks weren't too serious, he should be able to heal them easily enough—at least he would have been able to, if he hadn't taken that wound with the angel blade.

He took a shuddering breath and started to push himself onto his hands and knees. He almost collapsed again from the burning pain that tore through his back, right down to the tip of his injured right wing.

"Ah, you're still alive."

Castiel turned his eyes upward to glare hotly at Ketch, standing over the body of the huge werewolf that Castiel had gone up against. The Englishman was simply tending to his crossbow, retrieving a bolt from the wolf's back.

"Yes, it would seem that I am," Castiel grunted, gritting his teeth as he pulled himself to his feet, bending painfully to retrieve his angel blade finally. "What the hell was that?"

Ketch raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Castiel channeled his pain into seething anger. "We had no discussion about what your plan was. You can't just throw a flash bomb out there without telling your teammates what your plan is. Also, you could have arrived a little earlier since I was too injured to provide decent back up by the time you finally got here."

Ketch had the gall to look slightly indignant. "I don't owe you anything, angel. It is not your place to tell me how I run my missions."

"Very well," Castiel growled at him. "If that's the way you choose to run your missions, then I'll do the same, next time." He started toward the door of the warehouse, trying his best not to limp, but Ketch stopped him with an arm across his chest. Castiel met the Englishman's eyes as Ketch crowded into his personal space.

"Fine, then, halo. If you feel so strongly about it, you can report with me to Davies. He's on his way now. I told him we were finished here."

As if on cue, the sound of a car pulling up outside came to them, and Ketch gave Castiel an unreadable look before he pulled away and strode toward the door and pulled it open.

Castiel followed after a second, gritting his teeth as every step sent a jolt of pain through his ribs and back.

Mick Davies got out of his car, and Castiel wondered if he had just been waiting close by for them to finish the hunt. A van pulled up behind him and a crew of men in jumpsuits got out. Castiel figured they were probably the British Men of Letters' clean up crew. Obviously, Ketch was only interested in the initial part of the 'disposal' and Castiel couldn't picture Mick Davies ever getting his hands dirty.

Davies greeted Ketch with a nod, and turned his gaze to Castiel, looking him up and down. "Rough hunt?"

"Ask him," Castiel growled, glancing over at Ketch.

The Englishman's lips curled up into a small, amused smile that only irked Castiel more. "It seems our…operative…has some grievances."

Mick looked at him questioningly. "Castiel?"

Castiel shook his head. "Ketch has no sense of communication on any of his hunts. On the last few I have ended up injured because he always sends me in the front and waits until the last possible minute to come in the back. And he never discusses his plans, which causes problems in the middle of a fight." He glared at them both. "I have worked with demons who have more integrity than you. In fact, I actually would rather have the King of Hell at my back than any of your people because I actually trust him more than you." And the sad part was, it was true. He might find Crowley annoying, but the demon had never once abandoned him on their hunt for Lucifer, even when things got rough.

"This is the last mission I'm doing for you. I'm done," Castiel said decisively, knowing there was no way he could do this again. Sam and Dean were going to know something was wrong this time, he was sure. There was no way he could heal himself before he got back to them, and he would rather come clean to them now before they found out through other means. "I can't do this anymore. Sam and Dean are growing suspicious. They will find out eventually anyway, and I will not have them think I betrayed them. Not again."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Mick said, obviously trying to be civil, but Castiel could see he was struggling. Finally. He almost felt a perverse relief at seeing the man's cracks.

"But frankly, we don't give a toss about your play family," Ketch told him with a dry scoff. "You're needed here, angel, you are a tool, and tools are used for getting things done. They don't get the choice of skiving off whenever they want to."

Castiel stepped forward, anger flaring up inside of him. "I am not your tool. You hired me because you needed my services, though I don't understand why, and I am through with the way you run your operations."

"Perhaps you don't get it," Ketch said, posturing into a wired position that Castiel recognized as the stance he effected before running into a fight. "We could so easily take you back to our facility and keep you in our arsenal, just the same as all the other fun toys we have for killing monsters. So if you don't want to be put on a leash and taught to heel the hard way, you may want to cooperate." He smiled thinly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Though if you wish to continue with this strain of rebellion, by all means, so do. I certainly wouldn't mind the job of training you out of it. I do enjoy an angel."

"Mr. Ketch, that's enough." Mick stepped in before Castiel could smite him. "He is right though, Castiel. We reserve the right to obtain the proper tools for the job for the betterment of everyone. And if we have to use force we will, as regrettable as that may be."

"Just like we have no qualms with finding ways to force the Winchesters to work for us if it comes to that," Ketch said with some deep satisfaction obvious in his voice. "You know, I wonder if we can still amp up Sam with a few pints of demon blood. It would make taking demons out quite a bit easier, don't you think?"

Castiel's heart froze. "You wouldn't dare." But he knew they would. Just as surely as they would lock him up.

Ketch just smiled at him and Mick didn't offer anything to discredit the idea.

"So," Mick said after a few beats of Castiel's seething silence. "You will come the next time we need you, right?"

Castiel wanted nothing more than to beat his smiling face into the ground but he forced himself to nod. Just once. It was all he could muster.

"Good. Good work, Castiel. I hope to see you again soon."

Mick started back toward his car, but Ketch lingered, still staring at Castiel with that awful expression on his face.

"Staring is impolite," Castiel grunted at him.

Ketch gave a short chuckle. "You are quite peculiar, aren't you?" He finally turned away and Castiel got ready to leave as well, but Ketch turned back one last time. "Oh, and, angel? Still no tattling to the Winchesters, or we'll test that little theory with Sam. And you know that we know how to find them."

"I will kill you if you touch them," Castiel said firmly. "That is a promise."

"Is it?" Ketch asked, sounding nothing but interested.

"You said you wanted to make things interesting," Castiel replied.

Ketch actually gave what looked to be a genuine smile. "Well, then you had better not give me a reason to touch them." Then he finally did turn away and Castiel stood and watched him and Davies for a moment before forcing his feet into movement and heading back toward his truck, biting back the pain of his injuries.

He should have known better than to think he could get out of it that easily. His stomach knotted at his helpless situation. No matter how he looked at it, his hands were tied, unless he wanted to put the Winchesters in danger, and he had no doubt that Ketch would make good on his threat and probably enjoy it, the bastard. Castiel's first priority was still protecting his family and he would keep at it.

Even if it killed him.


	5. Fissures

 

Castiel drove for a little bit before he had to pull over at a gas station and see if he could do something about his wound. He had exerted more energy than he should have repairing his clothes and relieving them of bloodstains, and because of that, he had taken even more energy from healing his wound. He grabbed a first aid kit he had taken to keeping in the truck just in case and quickly retreated to the convenience store bathroom.

Thankfully, it was only a single room so he wouldn't have to worry about anyone coming in while he was tending his injury. He carefully pulled off his coat and shirt, wincing as the fabric peeled away from the cut on his back. The shirt was soaked in blood again already, but there was little he could do about that. As long as it didn't show through his coat, he wasn't going to bother. He turned his back to the mirror, craning his neck with some difficulty, and felt sick as he saw how deep and long the wound really was. It was at least ten inches long and was seeping grace and blood. His lower back was also covered with long claw marks and his right side was purple with bruises. He'd stopped healing his lesser wounds to focus his energy on the other, but it was a sluggish process and he would need to patch himself up with his supplies as well as he could.

Castiel bit his lip, and turned toward the small first aid kit he had brought. He spent the next fifteen minutes awkwardly taping gauze to his wound. It was not an easy angle to get to and made the wound burn even more. By the time he was done, it had hardly been worth it, since he had taped the gauze on so badly it wasn't doing much good. He decided just to wrap extra bandages around his torso to secure it, and that would have to do, because there was nothing more that could be done than to wait for the wounds to heal themselves.

He made sure there were no visible injuries as he dressed once again, and cleaned up his mess. Then he went back out to his truck and started on his way back to Lebanon.

A sick feeling entered his gut as he thought of Ketch's threat against Sam. Surely the British Men of Letters wouldn't sanction forcing a human to drink demon blood so they could use him as an…asset. But of course Castiel knew that was just wishful thinking. Of course they would. They had forced him to work for them, and a man who had once had psychic powers was probably no more human to them than an angel. Besides, they had already tortured Sam mercilessly, and, despite what Mick Davies had said about Toni Bevel going off the books with that, Castiel doubted they would hesitate to do it again to him or Dean. Or even Mary if they felt like it. The thought made Castiel wish that he had thrown caution to the wind earlier and stabbed Mick and Ketch in their throats, if only to at least be done with them.

These dark thoughts accompanied him all the way to the bunker and he wasn't sure he had ever been so grateful to see the place. His vision had been blurring off and on the last hour and his body was feeling increasingly weary. He needed to rest and recuperate. Hopefully Sam and Dean wouldn't pry. He could probably hold out until they were asleep to do the same, and that would give him at least a few hours to recharge and let his grace heal both his vessel and his true form.

But of course, that wasn't meant to be.

Castiel walked through the door, expecting to be greeted by the smells of dinner, either cooked by Dean or picked up from town, but instead he found them bustling around, packing duffle bags with weapons. Sam looked up as Castiel tried to walk as steadily as possible down the stairs, which proved to be no easy task.

"Hey, Cas, you got here just in time," Sam said. "We were just about to head out."

"What's going on?" Castiel asked.

"Mom called," Dean informed him as he came into the war room and threw his bag onto the map table. "She found a nest of vamps down south of here and could use some extra manpower. You in?"

The last thing Castiel wanted to do right now was go on another hunt. He wasn't even sure he would be able to handle it with his wound, but there was probably a several hour drive ahead of them which might give him enough time to heal if he was lucky.

But most of all, this was family asking for help, and he was not about to turn them down. He would never turn them down, and he would have their back even if he were dying.

So of course he said yes, and followed Sam and Dean out to the Impala.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If the Winchesters noticed how quiet he was on the trip there, they didn't ask. After he had informed them that his current 'lead' had been yet another dead end, they seemed happy enough to let him brood. He was too tired anyway to notice or care about Dean's worried glances in the rearview mirror. He simply propped his chin on his hand and looked out the window, allowing his eyes to slide shut after a while, and his body to go into 'recovery mode' where it allowed for better healing.

But the drive there still wasn't long enough for his wound to heal completely. In fact, it hurt almost worse after the long time sitting down and Castiel nearly cried out as he pulled himself out of the Impala. But somehow he managed to keep himself in check, tasting blood before he realized he had bitten through his cheek to keep from making a noise.

"Cas, you good? Come on," Dean said, and Castiel realized he was still standing by the car.

"Of course, sorry." He ignored their worried looks and followed them to the door of Mary's hotel room.

She must have heard them coming because she opened it when they got there and greeted them with smiles. "I appreciate you boys coming; I realized I was a little out of my depth with this one," she said.

"Well, we're not going to make you go off after a vamp nest alone," Dean said and gave her a hug.

Mary's gaze fell on Castiel after she had greeted her sons and Castiel saw a slight frown on her face. He felt uncomfortable, wondering if for some reason, she hadn't wanted him there, but then he realized her look was more concerned than anything.

"Castiel, are you alright?" she asked.

"Of course," he said, trying to stand up straighter, and refraining from wincing as he did.

"You just look…tired," she said.

"I am. I've…been looking for Kelly Kline and there have been no good leads. It is…wearing."

"Well, come inside, and we'll look over the info I found. I have a fresh pot of coffee," Mary said, stepping away from the door.

"Yes please," Sam said and Castiel had to agree that coffee did sound far too good right now.

After they had gotten their bearings with the hunt, and Mary had given them all the necessary information, all they had to do was wait for daylight and the prime time to go in and take out the vampire nest. Castiel was grateful for the extra time and sat quietly, drinking some coffee and willing his wound to heal some more.

When Sam and Dean went out to the car to check their inventory of machetes and dead man's blood, Mary turned to Castiel and sat down across the table from him.

"Are you sure you're all right, Castiel?" she asked quietly, glancing out the window at the boys.

Castiel sighed, feeling extremely heavy all of a sudden. For a fleeting moment he almost wanted to confide in her. He knew that Mary would understand why he couldn't tell Sam and Dean, but yet…what if she tried to confront Mick Davies herself? Or what if Mick and Ketch ever found out she knew? He couldn't afford to put her in danger like that; that would only make Sam and Dean angrier with him when he finally told them the truth. And by now, he knew that the truth coming out would be inevitable. It was only a matter of time.

Or, at this point, more likely whenever he collapsed from his injuries.

He was hoping that wouldn't happen, but he couldn't be sure. He would just have to do his best not to get injured on this hunt as well.

"I suppose I am just discouraged," Castiel finally told Mary who was still waiting for an answer. "I feel responsible for Kelly Kline running off and I still can't find her. It was my fault Lucifer got out of the cage in the first place."

"We all make mistakes," Mary said kindly.

"I know, but mine always seem to cause devastating problems," Castiel admitted, shifting in his chair so it didn't press against his back so much. "I used to think it was because I was meant to do penance for all the bad things I did, but now I think it's more that I'm just incompetent when it comes to making sure something works."

Mary gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sure you're not incompetent, Castiel. You have kept Sam and Dean safe. I'm grateful for that."

"Well, that hasn't always gone so well either," Castiel admitted wryly.

Mary gave him a small smile. "I just want you to know that if you ever need to talk to someone—someone besides Sam and Dean—I will be there to listen."

Castiel felt a surge of gratitude toward the woman who had come back from the dead, feeling out of place, and probably still did, offering to listen to the woes of a fallen angel. The offer was appreciated, even though he knew he wouldn't take her up on it. At least not this time.

"Thank you, Mary, I…I just have some things I need to work out. Hopefully I can get back to normal eventually." If he wasn't killed on his next mission with Ketch.

Sam and Dean came back into the room then. "Car's packed. You ready?"

Mary stood and Castiel followed, as swiftly as he could. "Yes," he said.

They all piled into the Impala and Dean drove to the location of the vampires' hideout.

"Let me guess," Sam said blandly. "Another abandoned factory or warehouse."

"Got it in one," Dean replied. "These places seem to attract supernatural fuglies." He parked the Impala in a shielded spot about a block away then got out as the others followed suit. Castiel was thankful his back had healed at least a bit, but it still hurt, especially his wing. Wings were always the hardest thing to heal since they were more sensitive than any other part of his true form.

Dean opened the trunk and started to hand out machetes and syringes of dead man's blood in case they got into close quarters. "Okay, everyone know what we're doing?"

"Mom and I go in from the side, and try to detract attention from you and Cas when you come in the front," Sam said, tucking the dead man's blood into his coat pocket for easy access.

"Yup, we'll follow you fast and confuse them. Take 'em out between us if all goes well," Dean said, strapping his machete sheath around his waist. "Got it Cas?"

"Yes, I got it," Castiel replied, unable to help notice the extreme difference between this hunt and all the ones he had gone on with Ketch. There were actual communications about the plan.

"And it goes without saying—watch your buddy's back," Dean said, then clapped Sam on the shoulder as the younger Winchester left with Mary to go to their position. "Alright, Cas, you're with me."

Castiel gripped his angel blade and followed Dean toward the front of the building. He leaned against the door, listening for the vampires inside.

"How many do you think there are?" Dean asked. "Mon said she thought anywhere from six to eight."

Castiel closed his eyes to concentrate, trying to detect heartbeats. "I think there might be six or seven."

"Well, enough to keep us busy, then," Dean said.

They heard a door opening and Dean and Castiel got ready, knowing that was Sam and Mary's cue. The sound of a scuffle and shouts sounded out and Dean kicked in the door, hurrying inside, Castiel right on his heels.

Sam and Mary were already in the process of being surrounded by six—no, seven—vampires that were angry at being woken up, their fangs in evidence. Unlike the last nest of vampires Castiel had taken out with Ketch, these did seem to be feral vampires and had left enough of a body count to alert Mary to their presence. Castiel had to wonder fleetingly why the Men of Letters hadn't found these first. Again, he didn't think they were all as competent as they seemed to think they were.

He and Dean ran at the backs of the vampires and were able to take two out before they realized they were there. Castiel gasped as the act of swinging his blade tore open the partially healed wound on his back, and he could feel blood seeping from it again. But there was no time to think about that. He had to keep fighting, protect Dean's back.

"Sam, take those two over there!" Dean shouted before crying out as a vampire flung itself at him and took him to the floor hard.

"Dean!" Castiel cried and leapt forward to take down the vampire when he was hit with something from behind.

It felt like a metal pole and slammed into him hard, right across his shoulder blades and his injured wing. Castiel dropped, agony stealing the breath from his throat so all that came out was a strangled yelp. He could hear Dean's cry of pain as if from far away, but it was already fading fast, and as another blow descended, his senses simply gave out and blackness overtook him, along with the feeling that he had failed his family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel woke to murmuring voices somewhere nearby. He wasn't quite sure what had happened. He thought for a moment that he had been hunting with Ketch and it was probably him and Davies talking nearby about the hunt, but the voices were even more familiar than that, ones that brought comfort to Castiel. The Winchesters.

He forced his eyes open blearily, realizing he was lying on his stomach on a soft surface. He shifted and recognized it as a bed. He was covered with a light blanket and he was bare from the waist up.

That realization sent a thrill of fear through him. They had found his wound; they would know! He tried to push himself upright, but his back flared up slightly and he was unable to help a groan.

"Whoa, Cas, lay back down." Familiar hands gripped his shoulders and pushed him gently back onto the bed before crouching down to meet his eyes.

"Dean?" Cas asked, his voice rough.

"Yeah, buddy."

Castiel strained a bit to see Sam and Mary standing near the foot of his bed, worry on their faces. "You're okay?" Castiel asked, relieved.

Dean shrugged. "Little bruised, got some fang marks, but nothing I can't live with." His eyes darkened then. "You on the other hand…"

Castiel groaned and tried to shift again. "I can explain…"

"You damn well better," Dean said gruffly.

"Dean," Mary said quietly. "He's exhausted, maybe you should wait."

"No, you're right," Castiel grunted, and sifted until he was propped up on one elbow. His back did feel mildly better than before. He wondered vaguely how long he had been out. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, I just didn't want you to worry."

"No way, that's not a good enough excuse," Dean straightened and folded his arms over his chest. "One of the first rules of hunting is that you do not hide injuries from your hunting partners. Being compromised like that can get your teammates killed, not to mention yourself. Sure, sometimes you have no choice but to fight injured, but you let everyone else know so we can compensate for you! And that's not even all of it!" Dean was furious, Castiel could tell, and he didn't know what he was going to tell the Winchesters. Didn't know what lie could even start to make it better.

"Twice now, you've gone off on these 'leads' on Kelly Kline and you've come back injured. And don't try to say it's nothing, because you've got clawmarks, busted ribs and what looks like an angel blade wound with a really bad patch-up job! You can't just lie to my face anymore, Cas!"

"Dean," Castiel closed his eyes, and shook his head slightly. What was he going to say? "I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't good enough!" Dean shouted. He took a deep breath and Castiel was surprised to see him try to tamp down his anger. "Cas, I'm worried. About you," he said. "You haven't been yourself, lately, man, and this keeping secrets thing—you know that never ends well."

"Dean," Castiel said again, shaking his head. I'm being forced to work with the British Men of Letters, but I can't tell you because they threatened you. He wanted to say it. It would only take a couple seconds to get the words out. Words he couldn't take back. He wanted to say them so bad, but Ketch's threat about forcing Sam to drink demon blood again…the possibility even of Ketch hiding in the bunker right now, waiting for Sam and Dean when they got back like Toni Bevel had…Castiel couldn't. He was not going to underestimate Ketch's threats. Davies was a paper pusher, but he was also willing to do—or let other people do—whatever needed to be done to reach his own goals. And if that meant sending Ketch after Sam, probably using Dean and Mary as leverage, then Castiel knew it would happen, no matter how hard he fought to stop it.

So he had to lie.

"I know it's not enough, but I am sorry," Castiel said. "Yes, some of the…leads I followed ended up being dangerous even if they were dead ends. I was forced to defend myself on several occasions."

"Then why didn't you call us?" Dean demanded, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "We've been doing nothing but sitting around the bunker finding random hunts this past month when we could have been helping you!"

"Because it's my problem!" Castiel snapped. "And this time I'm going to fix it myself. I'm not going to let anyone else clean up my own messes again." That at least wasn't a lie, even though Castiel still longed to spill the truth. The longer he lied to the Winchesters the more painful it became. Cracks were starting to appear and he knew it was only a matter of time before everything blew up. If it didn't tonight.

Dean shook his head. "And I'm not gonna let you give me that this time," he said. "Cas, this isn't because we don't think you can clean up your own messes. This is because so many times in the past Sam and I haven't been there when you needed us most, or even…even refused to help you." He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Point is, Cas, like we keep trying to tell you; you're our brother, and we're not gonna leave you to do this alone. Not anymore."

Castiel stared up at him, wishing this was only about Kelly Kline and his stupid pride, but he finally relented. "Alright. I—I will try not to do anything stupid." It wasn't really a lie. He would try. But of course Davies would be calling again, probably in a couple days, and he would have no choice but to run off again without the Winchesters, thus enraging Dean all the more.

"We just want to make sure you know you're not alone in this, Cas," Sam said, sitting down on the end of the bed. "Dean's right, we've left you to your own devices way too many times in the past when we should have stepped in. We just want to make sure we never do that again. Intentionally or otherwise."

Castiel deflated. "Thank you." Maybe for one night at least he could believe the lie. He was very tired. He slumped back onto his side, without fully intending to.

The Winchesters all noticed at once. Mary took the initiative and shooed both Sam and Dean away. "You've worked out your problems, now let him rest," she told them, and smiled at Castiel as she helped to pull the blanket back over his shoulders.

"We don't have to hurry off either, Cas," Sam told him. "Sleep as long as you need."

"Just work on healing," Dean said. "We'll head back to the bunker when you're feeling up to traveling."

"Thank you. All of you," Castiel said, his eyes already drooping, his body already succumbing to the idea of rest.

"No problem, Cas," Dean replied, and Castiel heard the sincerity clear in his voice, and he allowed the warm feeling of being part of a family lull him into a healing sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In only hours his peaceful feeling was shattered.

It was early in the morning. Castiel had been sleeping for nearly twelve hours, and he felt much better. He could tell that his wound was almost completely healed apart from some small twinges in his wing still. He rolled over onto his back, unsure at first of what had woken him. He could still hear Sam and Dean breathing deeply in sleep so it must not have been them.

A glow came from nearby with a small buzzing sound and he looked over to see his coat draped over the back of a chair. The cellphone in his pocket was lighted up, and he carefully got out of bed to retrieve it, taking it to the bathroom to answer the text.

It was, of course from Mick Davies.

Got another mission. Need you ASAP.

A second text gave an address.

Castiel's hand clenched around the phone, threatening to crush it, but instead he calmed himself with one deep breath, and then typed back, I'll be there.

He walked back out to the room, and retrieved his shirt and coat, looking back at the Winchesters, Dean having insisted on sleeping on the floor between the two beds even though he had taken more hits than Sam. Castiel bit his lip and then stepped over to them and touched their foreheads one after the other, putting them both into a deeper sleep that they wouldn't wake up from for several more hours at least. He couldn't afford for them to wake while he was leaving.

An ache started in his chest as he thought about the lie he had told earlier that had seemed to repair damages done previously. He knew that if he walked out that door, he would be forfeiting their trust, replacing their brotherly relationship with suspicion and disappointment. But he would rather have them angry at him than have them become the property of the British Men of Letters. Castiel knew well enough how that felt and he wasn't going to wish that on anyone.

So he turned around and he walked out the door.


	6. Terminated

 

Castiel was glad he had gotten as much rest as he had, because it was a long drive. He'd had to steal a car to get back to the bunker, which was on the way to the meeting place. Once he picked up his truck, he went on his way to the despised meeting. At least his wound was healed and even though he was still weak from the extra use of grace, he could see straight and he didn't feel like he was going to black out any moment. Plus the pain was gone, so that made it more bearable.

Of course, he was likely to be injured again, because Ketch couldn't be trusted to keep enemies off his back, but that was just something he had gotten used to. He had given up expecting any better.

Mick wasn't there at the meeting point this time, just Arthur Ketch, leaning against his motorcycle in an abandoned parking lot outside of a closed down strip mall. Noticeably deserted. Castiel recalled Ketch's comment about making things interesting and almost wished to oblige him with the help of his angel blade. But he simply parked several spaces away and got out of the truck to meet him.

"Well?" he demanded. "What is it this time? Werewolves, vampires? By the way, the Winchesters and I just took out a nest down south and we made sure to finish them all off this time. So no need to go clean up."

"Good to know." Ketch smirked slightly and straightened up. "This job is a little different. It's a retrieval."

Castiel narrowed his eyes, instantly suspicious. "And what are we retrieving?"

"That's none of your concern. You're coming as backup in case we run into trouble."

"Great," Castiel replied unenthusiastically.

"Come on, then. It's a long drive."

Castiel had no choice but to follow Ketch and they drove for several hours without the Englishman giving Castiel any indication as to where they were going. He had a strange feeling about this mission. What kind of 'retrieval' was this supposed to be? Was it some kind of hostage situation? Maybe one of their operatives had been taken. But Castiel felt it was more along the lines of the theft kind of retrieval. That seemed more Ketch and Davies' style.

Finally they passed through a residential area, and stopped in front of an isolated lake house. Castiel sat idling the engine, waiting to see what Ketch would do. The Englishman turned off his motorcycle and strode over to climb into the passenger seat of Castiel's truck. The angel was slightly irked he hadn't asked, but couldn't exactly be surprised.

"Do you actually have a plan this time or are we just going to run in and use me as bait again?" Castiel asked blandly.

"As I said before, this isn't a hunt, it's a retrieval," Ketch told him and motioned toward the house. "In there is demon who is keeping an article that we have need of."

"A demon," Castiel repeated. "Why is a demon living out here?"

"It's a loner to my understanding. Likes to fish. Does it every night. We've had men watching its movements in preparation for this. We'll make our move tonight at nine p.m. when the demon is out on the lake. It will be a quick in and out, and you can go back and play house with your Winchesters."

Castiel seethed at him silently, wondering whether he would even have a home with the Winchesters by the time he got back. "This seems too easy." He mused out loud.

Ketch gave him a scoffing smile. "A job is only as difficult as you make it. Of course, you wouldn't have learned that from your Winchesters."

"Perhaps they tend to over think things sometimes, but they always watch their teammates backs," Castiel spat, unable to help himself.

Ketch didn't seem to take offense though, and just simply narrowed his eyes at him. He reached over and opened the truck door. "We have time to kill. I'd like a bite to eat."

Castiel followed him back into town, casting one last glance back at the lake house. He just couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong with this whole situation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They found a diner, and camped out there to eat dinner and wait for the time they would be able to go back to the demon's house and retrieve…whatever it was that Ketch was after.

The strangest part of this was the fact that the house was occupied by a demon. Of course, some demons did go off on their own, but to live in seclusion like a human, and not go around making deals—that was rare. And Castiel didn't think this demon was making deals in town because he had pulled out his phone to look up local news reports and didn't see anything that stood out. That just made it even stranger.

A sudden idea formed in Castiel's mind that made a pit form in his stomach. What if this man wasn't a demon at all, but that was just something Ketch told him so he wouldn't hesitate to kill him if the man surprised them? But Castiel had to believe that the British Men of Letters wouldn't want civilians killed. That would be…messy, which Mick Davies always seemed to hate. Of course, Ketch on the other hand, the sociopathic bastard that he was, probably wouldn't care who he killed.

Castiel couldn't wait for this mission to be over.

He ordered a cheeseburger to eat. He was still worn down enough that food wasn't a bad idea, and it didn't even completely taste like molecules. He looked up from taking a bite to find Ketch staring at him with a brow quirked in amused interest.

"What?" he demanded, determined not to be unnerved by the Englishman.

"I didn't think you needed to eat," Ketch replied.

Castiel put his hamburger down. "I don't need to, but I can. Besides we will be sitting here for a while and it's polite to order something. And it will look less strange if I eat."

Both of Ketch's eyebrows shot up at that and his eyes got that sadistic delight in them that Castiel hated so much. "You really are peculiar. The other angels I've encountered in the past couldn't care less about fitting in with humans."

"I've been here a long time," Castiel said somewhat defensively. "And I have learned that it is sometimes best to blend in."

"Hmm," Ketch replied in a musing tone and Castiel chose to ignore him. His phone was continuously buzzing with texts from Sam and Dean, and even Mary. He had already let several calls go to voicemail and knew there would be a ton of angry messages from Dean and probably some kinder, more pleading ones, from Sam. He refused to look at anything, knowing that if he did he would feel inclined to reply. Instead he simply pulled his phone out and turned it off completely, then turned back to his hamburger, trying to ignore Ketch as best he could.

After they paid the diner bill later and left, Castiel was starting to wish he hadn't eaten the hamburger. He was getting more and more anxious about this mission and the burger was sitting heavily in his stomach.

He and Ketch waited as inconspicuously as possible a few blocks away from the lake house. They had watched the demon take his fishing gear down to the lake about ten minutes before. Castiel waited until Ketch motioned to him and then got out of the truck and followed the Englishman silently across the lawn in the shadows toward the house.

Ketch pulled out a lock pick set, but Castiel simply reached out and opened the door, which he had noticed the demon hadn't locked when he left. Ketch gave a short chuckle as Castiel rolled his eyes and then the Englishman stepped inside, Castiel right behind him, closing the door.

Castiel looked around. This was…not what he had been expecting. Of course, he wasn't entirely sure what he had been expecting from a demon who lived in a lake house and liked to go night fishing. It was rather quaint and old fashioned inside; for lack of a better word it was almost cozy. Book cases, a fireplace, comfortable chairs. Cheerful calico curtains. Not the kind of place Castiel would think a demon would like at all. But then, he supposed he was a bit different from your typical angels as well, so who was he to judge?

He followed Ketch into the back of the small house and found a kitchen there, just as quaint and cozy as the rest of the house.

"Now what?" Castiel grunted, shifting impatiently on his feet as Ketch looked around the kitchen.

The Englishman quirked a brow at him. "For an angel you certainly don't have much in the way of patience."

Castiel glared at him. "You asked me to do a job. If you don't want me to do it, I have plenty of things I need to see to. One being tracking down Lucifer's unborn child."

"Careful," Ketch told him, stepping up into his personal space with a dangerous glint in his eye. "Let us not forget, angel, that you are obliging us with your help for very good reasons."

Castiel felt anger rise inside of him but he quickly tamped it down. Yes, the British Men of Letters had made themselves very clear, and he would not risk Sam and Dean's safety for his own pride.

"Fine," he conceded. "What do you need me to do?"

"You stand watch," Ketch told him as he opened a door that looked like it belonged to a closet or possibly led to a basement. His eyes lit as he peered into it and turned around to cast a glance at Castiel over his shoulder. "Stay."

Castiel bristled at the pointedly demeaning phrase as Ketch descended a set of stairs beyond the door, but he obeyed. Castiel always obeyed whether forced or not, and the realization made him sick and angry. He was done with this. He decided right then, that this would be the last time he worked with the Brits. They could find someone else and if they thought he wouldn't smite them for coming after the Winchesters then they could think again. Let them try to hurt Sam and Dean; Castiel would welcome the opportunity to take them out. Like he needed a reason. But the continuous texts from his friends, his family, earlier made him realize that, even if they were angry now, they were probably also worried. He had read worry on Dean's face clearly the night before when he was yelling at Castiel for going hunting injured without telling anyone. They might yell again, but he was sure that at the end of the day, they would listen to his explanation and they would understand. That was what family did.

Just thinking those thoughts, making that decision, made him feel better, as if a weight had finally been lifted from his chest. He almost wanted to text Dean and Sam back now, but he would wait until this mission was over. Besides, he had left his phone in the truck.

It was then that a far off jaunty whistling cut through his inner thoughts. He frowned. At first he wasn't sure what it was. A passerby? And then he looked out the window and saw a man walking across the yard carrying several unidentifiable items. As he passed into the light, Castiel recognized his features as the demon who lived in the house with his fishing gear.

He quickly allowed his angel blade to slip into his hand, and then crossed back into the kitchen, opening the basement door.

"Ketch, he's coming back," he called.

The Englishman jogged back up the steps into the light, a box secured under one arm.

"Right on schedule," he said, looking at his watch.

"We need to take him out before he gets the drop on us; either that or run," Castiel said in a low voice as the whistling got louder. The demon was at the door. He gripped his blade tighter.

"We?" Ketch inquired, raising one eyebrow. "No, no, you seem to have mixed up our roles in this situation."

"What do you mean?" Castiel hissed as the front door opened, admitting the demon. It would only be seconds before he realized they were there.

Ketch's face split into a grin, as he took hold of Castiel's shoulder. "My dear angel, you're here as the distraction. Now do your job."

With a shove, Ketch forced him through the kitchen door out into the main room of the house. Castiel's breath caught in his throat as the demon glanced up at him. With yellow eyes.

A wicked sneer spread across the demon's face.

"Angel," he hissed, voice laced with both hatred and glee, as he strode forward, dropping his fishing supplies.

Castiel raised his blade, but the demon simply flicked a hand and Castiel flew to one side, losing his blade and toppling over the couch. Castiel thought somewhere in the back of his mind that this was a Prince of Hell, and he was no match for it but by then, the demon was suddenly on top of him, looming over him before he could regain his feet, and he couldn't raise his arm in time for the boot to descend on his head. Stars burst behind Castiel's eyes and everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was furious and about ready to tear his hair out. The only reason he hadn't shot out that door already was because Sam and his mom had tried their best to calm him down.

"Dean, come on, we knew something was up with him," Sam said. "We had to figure he was going to try to slip out unnoticed."

"Yeah, but we were supposed to wake up and stop him, not have him play sandaman and mojo us to sleep!" He pressed his fingers into his aching eyes. "I can't believe I didn't press him more last night. I knew I should have. Everything he spouted was BS."

"I don't think it all was," Mom cut in with a quieter tone. "I agree that he's hiding something, but I am sure Cas has a good reason for it."

"Either way, we need to find him," Sam said, sitting down at his computer. Dean checked the time again. Nine thirty in the morning. He had no idea when Cas had left since he had made sure Sam and Dean slept through it.

"What are you doing?" Mom asked Sam, going to stand behind his chair.

"I'm going to try to track his phone with the GPS app," Sam told him, typing quickly on the keyboard before sighing. "Damn. It looks like he turned it off."

"Son of a bitch," Dean shook his head. "Okay, well, we need to think about this then. Think about what the hell he's gotten himself into."

"I would start with Crowley," Sam said.

Dean frowned. "Why? Cas wouldn't keep that secret."

"Maybe, maybe not," Sam said with a chrug. "But it can't hurt to try."

Dean cursed again and pulled out his phone, dialing Crowley.

"What is it, Squirrel?" came the irritated voice over the speaker. "I'm a bit busy right now."

"Crowley do you have any idea where Cas is?" Dean demanded.

"Why the hell would I know where your feathered boyfriend is, Dean?" Crowley groused. "No, I do not have him in a dungeon somewhere, but if you see him, you can tell him I quite enjoyed the irony of our partnership and if he ever wants to work together again, I won't say no."

"Alright, long story short, Cas has been acting weird, and he's hiding stuff."

"Ooh, surprise, surprise. Wonder where he learned that one from."

"Okay, cut the crap," Dean growled. "I'm worried he might be in trouble, and I was wondering if you had heard anything about there he might be."

"Oh, Dean, you and Moose, are always so worried about someone or other. 'Oh I'm looking for my brother, I'm looking for my angel'. Like I said, not my bloody problem!"

"You haven't heard anything then? Not even about demons getting killed or anything?"

"I've been busy," Crowley grunted vaguely. "But here's a tidbit you might find interesting; someone did mention something about the feather duster hanging around the Men of Letters' paid assassin. You know, the one who likes to pretend he has good fashion sense, but rides a motorcycle?"

"Ketch?" Dean demanded. "What the hell is Cas doing working with Ketch?"

"Like I said, that's not my problem. But you're welcome for the information. Goodbye."

"Crowley—dammit he hung up." Dean threw his phone down on the table beside Sam's computer. "Well, we know something now. He's been working with those British dickbags. Why the hell would he do that?"

"Dean, it might not be that simple," Sam said.

"They tortured you!" Dean shouted.

"I know," Sam said, holding up his hands placatingly. "But maybe Cas isn't working with them voluntarily; after all, why else would he try to hide it?"

"Well, it doesn't matter, because either way, I'll kill them all," Dean growled.

"Dean," Mom spoke up. "Maybe you should contact the Men of Letters. If Cas is working with them, then they'll know where he is."

"Yeah, I think I still have their number actually," Sam said, reaching into his bag for his notebook.

"You kept their number?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Aren't you glad I did?" Sam shot back and Dean wordlessly had to agree.

Sam dug Mick's card out and dialed the number.

Dean seethed while they waited for the call to connect, gripping the back of one of the chairs until his knuckles turned white. He had almost been worried for a while that someone was hurting Cas on purpose, but this…he had to wonder what the Brits were holding over him to get him to work for them. Because Dean had a feeling Sam was right. Cas would have no reason to hide it from them—or really to work with the Brits at all—if they weren't forcing him to somehow. And that left very few options, namely, Cas was probably trying to protect them, which only made Dean madder.

"It's Sam Winchester," Sam said suddenly and Dean turned to see him hold up a finger. "Yeah, I want to meet with you. Got time?" Dean held out a hand indigently, wondering what Sam was doing, but Mom gave him a look and he waited. "Okay, great. See you soon."

"Dude, what was that?" Dean asked him after Sam ended the call.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You think he's gonna tell us anything over the phone? Not likely. If he thinks we might be thinking of joining on, however, he might be willing to meet us. Alone. And then we can get him to tell us where Cas is."

Dean cocked his head to one side and shrugged in consideration. "Okay. Opportunities to actually punch the douchbag in the face is definitely a plus."

"Are you sure you boys know what you're getting into?" Mom asked worriedly. "Davies might bring more people."

"Honestly, I don't think they have that many people here as it is," Sam said. "Otherwise, why would they be trying to recruit every hunter they stumble across?"

"In any case, we need to find Cas," Dean said firmly. "No matter what."

"But you're not going to help him if you get captured," Mom insisted.

Dean could almost feel her anxiety and had a feeling he knew where she was coming from and, hell, after being stuck in that government facility, he wasn't about to let himself be captured and stuck in a box again. "Mom, we got this, okay? I think we can handle a few posh paper pushers."

She shook her head, but consented. "Alright. Do you want me to come with you?"

"Actually, Mom, it might be best if you head back to the bunker," Sam said. "That way if Cas ends up heading back there someone will be there."

"And you'll have someone on the outside in case something happens," Mom added, folding her arms across her chest. "Alright, I'll get packed up. Call me if you need anything. Be careful. I love you."

"Love you too, Mom," Dean and Sam both replied, somewhat awkwardly.

Mom turned back to look at Dean before she reached the door. "And Dean, don't be too hard on Castiel when you find him. I'm sure he has a good reason for what he's doing. Do both of yourselves a favor, and let him explain himself first."

Dean swallowed hard, but nodded sharply. "Okay, Mom. I will."

Mom smiled and nodded back and Sam and Dean watched as she left for her own motel room to pack her things and check out.

Dean turned to his brother. "Come on, let's go find Cas."

 


	7. Darkest Hour

 

Castiel woke to a pounding in his head. He groaned, forcing his head upright and blinking his eyes to clear them. His surroundings came into focus slowly, and when they did he frowned at the sight. He seemed to be in some sort of storeroom, or some private display area. The small, dark room was cluttered with all kinds of arcane objects and weaponry, some old paintings on the walls. He wondered if this was the room that Ketch had disappeared into.

Ketch. That bastard had thrown Castiel to the demon and made off with whatever it had been he had retrieved. He never had told Castiel anything about what it was. It was obvious now that Castiel was only meant to play the bait, so it was pointless for him to be told. Anger flared inside of him. This is exactly what he had been afraid of happening. He had known he couldn't trust Ketch to have his back and now this had only given him the ultimate proof of that, if all the injuries previously hadn't already.

He took stock of himself now, and realized he couldn't move because he was chained to a metal frame. Limbs spread in a vulnerable position with his wrists and ankles both manacled. The manacles and the frame itself had Enochian sigils on them, which was working to bind the little grace he had. Not that it mattered either way. The demon that had him had yellow eyes—another thing the Brits had failed to mention. He was a Prince of Hell. No one but an archangel would have been a match for him. Castiel didn't even know there were any still around. But apparently he had found one. Lucky him.

He made a half-hearted attempt to pull himself free, but he was weak from the blow to his head, which obviously hadn't had time to heal before his grace was bound, and it was too late for escape anyway, because a door opened overhead and footsteps descended the flight of stairs into the room. Pretty soon, Castiel was face to face with the demon again.

"Ah, you're awake. Good," the demon seemed pleased. He strode over to stand in front of Castiel, looking him up and down. Castiel forced himself to stay still, even though the demon's gaze felt like it was boring into him. "I tried to find your friend, but he was long gone. Luckily I still have you."

"That man was not my friend," Castiel spat.

The demon raised an eyebrow. "No? Well, it matters little. You were working with him, trespassing on my property. I don't much like being disturbed, and stealing from me on top of it, well…." The demon shook his head. "Friend or not, I'm sure you know where he will take the artifact he stole from me. The only question is—will you tell me now? Or will I have to bleed it out of you?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the demon. "You are a Prince of Hell. I wonder why you hide here, collecting museum pieces."

The demon seemed amused by his question. "Why? Because I like to be alone. I am old, angel. I told that upstart Crowley that I wanted to be left alone, but it seems his word was not good enough, and now I have been the victim of theft at the hands of a human and a battered angel."

Castiel frowned. Crowley? Why was he even surprised. "Which one are you?" he asked.

The demon's eyes flared yellow as he said, "Ramiel."

Castiel nodded. "I've heard of you."

Ramiel smiled. "Good. Then you know my reputation. And what I can do to you." He reached into his coat and pulled out Castiel's own angel blade, studying it with interest. "Be assured that I will cut you apart slowly if you do not tell me where I can find my lost property."

Castiel shook his head. Did he have any true loyalty to Ketch and the Men of Letters? No, but at the same time they were still people, and wherever they were staying—if he even knew that much—there would likely be other people there who weren't involved in any of this. Castiel couldn't stand the thought of having their blood on his hands. And really, part of him truly wanted Davies and Ketch for himself. "I don't know where they would take it," he said truthfully.

Ramiel raised an eyebrow. "No?" He angled the angel blade again so that it caught the dim light of the room. "Are you sure about that?"

"They made it clear that I was nothing but a tool to them," Castiel said bitterly. "They had no reason to tell me where they kept their headquarters. I only went where I was supposed to when they called."

"So like an angel," Ramiel sneered, his voice tinted with both disgust and delight. "Always so eager to please."

Castiel bristled and he glared at the demon. "Not so much."

"Well," Ramiel said, tracing the angel blade up Castiel's throat until he was forced to tip his head back. "If you don't know anything, I guess I'll just have to torture you for my sheer enjoyment instead. Not that I'm complaining. It's been too long since I've had an angel." His eyes flashed yellow again as he smiled. "And if you decide to volunteer any information you think I might be interested in while we go, feel free."

Castiel braced himself for the pain to come, but really all that he could think about was that Sam and Dean had no idea where he was, and at the moment, it didn't look like there was any way out for him. He supposed it was all he deserved for lying to his family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't like this at all, man," Dean said as he tossed his phone down on the dashboard of the Impala as they sat waiting for Mick Davies to arrive at the meeting spot. "I still can't get a hold of Cas. I think something happened to him."

Dean knew Sam was worried too, but he was trying to keep a more level head about it. "Well, if he is hunting, he might have his phone turned off, or he might have left it in his truck or something." He cocked his head to one side and related the other option Dean had left unsaid. "Or he may just not want to talk to us, after leaving."

Dean glared at him. "When are we ever that lucky?"

Sam sighed and turned to look out the windshield again. "Never."

"I mean it, Sam, if something's happened to him…"

"I know," Sam said quietly, swallowing hard. "But right now, all we can do is figure out where he is and try to get him help if he needs it. We just need to make sure we're there for him."

"I know." He thought about what their mom had told him; to make sure he let Cas explain himself before he started yelling. Dean sighed inwardly. Yeah, he knew he wasn't that great about letting people explain themselves before he chewed them out but he would really try this time. Especially if they found Cas safe. Hell, he would shut up completely if they could just find Cas safe and unharmed. He didn't want to have repaired things with the angel only to lose him so soon after everything had finally started to work out for their family. It didn't even bear thinking about.

"Dean," Sam said, alerting him as Mick's car pulled up nearby.

They had decided to meet in a secluded area not far from where they had taken down the vampires. That way if things got messy, innocents wouldn't get in the crossfire.

But it seemed that Mick had come alone after all, and as Sam and Dean got out of their car, he was already striding over with that PR smile on his face that Dean wanted to introduce to his fist.

"Gentlemen, it's a pleasure," Mick said, offering his hand like he usually did.

Neither of them took it. Dean wondered when he would ever learn.

The Englishman sighed slightly and pulled his hand back. "So, you called me. Am I assuming too much that this is about joining up with us?"

Dean actually snorted and Sam offered the man his full bitchface.

"Uh, yeah, kinda," Sam told him scathingly.

Mick's smile was still in place, but his eyes were wary as he clasped his hands together. "Well, when may I ask what this is about?"

"Sure," Dean said, his voice full of steel. "Where the hell is Cas?"

"Sorry?" Mick inquired, still smiling.

Dean was furious, but he was willing to give this dick one more try. "Cas. Castiel. The angel. Our friend."

"Oh, of course," Mick said, looking very nervous just then. Dean didn't like that one bit. If the asshole didn't start talking, he was going to start throwing punches. "So you know he's working for us, then?"

"Yeah, a little demon told us," Sam snarked. "Where is he?"

"Well, lads, he's currently on an important mission with Mr. Ketch. I'm afraid I can't give you any details—"

Dean grabbed him by the front of his jacket and swung him around, slamming him down against the hood of the Impala. Mick cringed, real fear in his eyes now, as Sam came to stand at his brother's shoulder, and Dean would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy that look.

"Tell us where he is now, or I swear I will break your scrawny little neck!" Dean snarled at him.

"They're doing a dangerous retrieval, you'll interrupt the mission…" Mick tried to protest, holding his hands up as if that would do any good.

"That's not good enough," Sam informed him as Dean slammed Mick onto Baby's hood again.

"Just answer the damn question!" Dean snarled at him.

"Okay, okay!" Mick pleaded, palms out again. "Look, I'll give you the address, but it's on you, whatever happens when you get there."

"We don't give a damn," Dean informed him. "All we want is to find out where you sent our friend, you dick!"

"Fine, let me up and I'll write the address down for you," Mick nearly pleaded.

Dean held him there for a few long seconds, making him sweat, before he hauled him to his feet, and Mick let out a little yelp as he was settled none-too-gently back upright. He hurriedly reached for his phone and Sam pulled out his gun to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. Mick shuffled through his phone with shaking hands and found an address. "There, see? That's where they are. Just…this is really important. I wish you wouldn't try to mess it up."

"You know what, Mick?" Dean asked him. "The difference between us is that you see your people as playing pieces, but I see them as friends, family. People I care about. Which is why I don't send people off without backup, and I sure as hell do not send them home from a hunt without freaking medical attention!"

Mick shrunk back from him.

"Stop trying to recruit hunters," Sam told him firmly. "Go back to England. We don't want your crap here."

"Oh, and Mick?" Dean said and turned to swing a heavy fist into the small man's face. Mick spun around completely and collapsed to the ground. Dean and Sam didn't even stop to see if he was unconscious or not, they just got back into the Impala and Dean turned the key and started her off in the direction they would find Cas.

And he sure as hell hoped they found him in one piece. Because if they didn't….Dean was going to come back and shoot Davies on principle. And he wasn't even gonna feel bad about it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel sagged in his restraints, breathing heavily, as he tried to focus through the pain. Ramiel had been enjoying carving into him with his own angel blade, and though it certainly wasn't the worst torture Castiel had ever endured by far, it was still wearing, and he wanted to keep his senses about him in case an opportunity came for escape. Not that he really thought that would happen, but he hadn't given up yet either, and he wasn't about to do it any time soon. He was done with giving up.

"I always did love it when I crossed paths with angels, even if your kind are rather pretentious," Ramiel was saying, striding over to one of the displays in the room. This one had spears and lances propped up in a rack. He put Castiel's bloody angel blade down on a table and seemed to be inspecting the display in front of him. "You're so…self righteous; but then, I suppose that is the point of being an angel, after all. It also makes you scream and break so much prettier." He smiled in satisfaction as he seemed to find what he was looking for. Reaching for one of the lances, he pulled it from the rack with a fond expression. "I was given a gift a while back and I haven't had a change to truly use it. I wonder, do you recognize it?"

He turned around and brandished the lance at Castiel. The angel was baffled. It was made with celestial steel, that he could tell, and there were runes carved into the shaft, but he had no idea what it was even though he was sure he should.

"It's the Lance of Michael," Ramiel said, shaking his head in wonder as he slid his hand lovingly down the shaft of the lance. "A beautiful thing. He made it for the sole purpose of killing Lucifer. The funny thing is though…you use it on a demon, they simply turn to dust within seconds. You use it on an angel…" He turned back to Castiel, stepping forward and placing the tip of the lance at his throat. Castiel inhaled sharply, feeling the kiss of cold steel against his skin, able to feel the power the weapon contained. "They die in slow agony, rotting from the inside out." Ramiel grinned in pleasure. "So, little angel, shall we see what this thing can actually do? Or has your memory returned?"

"I don't know where the Men of Letters are," Castiel said, just repeating what he had told the demon before. "I never went to their base of operations. I don't even know if they have one."

"Surely you must have a way to contact them," Ramiel said, slowly trailing the lance blade down Castiel's chest.

"They won't trade it for me," Castiel admitted.

Ramiel seemed amused by this. "Of course they wouldn't. You're just a tool to them, aren't you? I figured as much. Well, in that case, it looks like I have you all to myself. Which means, I don't even have to keep you alive if I don't want to."

Before Castiel could say anything else, Ramiel drew back the lance and thrust it forward toward the helpless angel. Castiel felt the blade pierce his side, and fiery agony tore through him, ripping a scream from his throat. Ramiel pulled the blade out and Castiel's back arched in pain before he slumped against the frame, unable to do anything but gasp for breath and stare at the demon who was watching in pure enjoyment.

"Oh, this is going to be fun," he said as he set the lance aside again, ignoring the fact that Castiel's blood still stained it. "Tell me, angel, how does it feel?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean and Sam pulled up at the address Mick had given them and looked incredulously at the small lake house sitting, not at all forebodingly, in the dark.

"Seriously?" Sam inquired, double-checking the address.

"Oh, I swear; if that little asshole sent us on a wild goose chase I will go back there and burn him alive," Dean growled as he got out of the car. "He can't seriously expect us to believe this is where Cas and Ketch went to hunt evil."

Sam furrowed his brow. "Didn't Mick say something about a retrieval?"

"Either way, man, look at this place! Its like the setting for a freaking romance movie, not a dangerous mission!" Dean opened Baby's trunk and reached in to pull out his gun and a machete, as well as an angel blade. You never could be too careful. Sam grabbed the demon killing knife and his own gun, tucking both away on his body.

"So what's the plan?" he asked.

Dean checked his gun to make sure it was fully loaded and slammed the clip back in before tucking it into the back of his belt. "Honestly, I have no idea what we're getting into here."

"Well that's certainly an understatement."

Sam and Dean spun around to stare at Crowley who had suddenly appeared right behind them.

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"You two are even more moronic than I took you for, if that were possible. Do you want to die?"

"Oh we so don't have time for this," Dean growled, grabbing his angel blade and taking a step toward the demon. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Trying to save your arses—and mine into the bargain. You're welcome."

"And why do you suddenly care so much?" Dean demanded. "I thought you said this wasn't your problem."

"Well, it wasn't until I found out where dear Castiel and his new BFF decided to go reenact The Italian Job," Crowley growled. "Trust me, you have no idea what you're about to walk into." He nodded toward the lake house. "In there? That's no ordinary demon, that's Ramiel—he's a Prince of Hell."

"Demons?" Dean asked incredulously, casting another glance toward the lake house.

"What's a Prince of Hell?" Sam asked.

"The oldest of the old demons, next to Lilith," Crowley explained. "Lucifer turned them himself to be captains in his army. You knew one before—Azazel."

Sam and Dean shared a wide-eyed look. Dean's heart dropped to his feet. "Yellow Eyes?" Sam breathed.

Crowley inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I made a deal with Ramiel years ago that I wouldn't let anything or anyone bother him. In exchange, he let me rule Hell. You go in there, we all get it."

"Cas is in there!" Dean shouted.

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. "Feathers got himself into this mess."

"Those limey dickbags forced him into working for them," Dean snarled. "They sent him in there and got him caught and, Prince of Hell or not, we're going in there to get him out."

Crowley gave a longsuffering sigh and eyeroll. "Of course. I'm not even going to bother talking you out of it. But make it quick, because I think I may pay a visit to old Ramiel, and I may be able to buy you enough time to rescue the choir boy."

Dean wasn't about to be grateful for anything Crowley was doing, but he was somewhat relieved, not to mention surprised—even though he was pretty sure the demon was just offering to help since his own ass was on the line.

"Just give me three minutes head start and then go in the back," Crowley said. "Do not waste any time. Just go in, rescue your angel, and get the hell out of there!"

"Yeah, no need to tell us twice," Sam said and Dean looked over at him for the first time. The younger man looked somewhat shaken, and he had every right to be. They hadn't gone up against a yellow-eyed demon since Azazel, and he had been one tough son of a bitch. In fact, Dean was pretty sure that the only thing that had been able to kill him was the Colt. If only they had that still.

"Don't worry, Sammy, we'll get Cas out safely and floor it back to Lebanon," Dean told him.

They crept toward the back of the house in the shadows and gave Crowley the allotted time before Dean stepped forward and opened the kitchen door while Sam covered him. Seeing the coast was clear, they hurried quietly inside, and looked around.

"Check in there," Dean nodded toward the doorway leading from the kitchen as he checked around, seeing where Ramiel might be keeping Cas. He then saw a door on one side of the kitchen, and figured it was probably just a pantry, but when he opened it, he found that it led to a flight of stairs heading down into some sort of basement or storage room. A dim light glowed down there and Dean's heart rate picked up.

"Sam," he called softly, and his brother hurried from the other room. "Let's check this out."

Sam nodded, keeping his knife at the ready. Dean pulled out his angel blade, figuring the gun, even with devil's trap bullets, probably wasn't going to leave a scratch on a yellow-eyes.

He wasn't really sure what he was going to find at the bottom of the stairs, but he was not expecting a museum of sorts down there. The place was covered in paintings are old stuff.

But that stuff was just something Dean took in at the back of his mind, because as soon as he looked around the room, his eyes instantly lighted upon the figure who was chained to a metal rack on one side.

"Dean," Sam gasped, and Dean knew his brother had seen him too.

"Cas!" Dean hurried forward, Sam right on his heels. They rushed over to the metal frame that was holding Cas upright—the only thing that was, it seemed, because the angel looked to be in seriously bad shape. Dean drew to a stop, staring in horror at his friend as he finally saw him up close. He was almost afraid to touch him, unsure of what was wrong with the angel.

There were several bloody bruises decorating his face, and tears in Cas' clothes from typical knife wounds, but there was also a deep bleeding hole in his side and through his open shirt, Dean saw blackened veins roping up Cas' torso toward his neck.

"Oh god," Sam exclaimed softly. He was the first to recover and step forward, looking at the manacles and trying to find a way to get Cas off of the rack. The angel stirred with a groan, lifting his head with what seemed to be a great effort. Dean finally stepped forward and gripped the sides of Cas' face between his hands.

"Cas, hey," he said softly as Sam hurried away to look for keys.

Cas' eyes flickered open, the blue clouded by pain, but relief registered in them as he recognized Dean. "D-Dean?" he grunted.

"Yeah, Cas, it's me. Sam and I are here, we're gonna get you out," Dean promised.

"You came," Cas breathed.

"Of course we did," Dean said firmly. "You're family."

Cas' lips turned up slightly before he groaned loudly in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. "Dean, this wound…I—I can't heal it."

"The cuffs are sigiled, Cas," Sam said as he returned with the key and started to unlock the manacles as Dean carefully propped Cas up, aware of his wounds.

"No, it's…poisoned or something," Cas moaned. "He—he used the…Lance of Michael."

"What?" Dean demanded. "Like Michael the archangel?"

"Yes," Cas said wearily and slumped with a hiss as Sam released his manacles. Dean caught him and lowered him into a sitting position as carefully as possible.

"Okay, okay, we'll figure this out, just let me see it," Dean coaxed and gently peeled Cas' blood soaked shirt away from the wound. His own hands were shaking and he felt bile rise in his throat as he saw the deep puncture right underneath Cas' ribs. There was blood seeping from it but also a black ichor that could only be poison. The same that was currently spreading through the rest of Cas' body. Dean inspected Cas' stomach and chest more closely, and realized that the poison wasn't just spreading through the veins, it was almost corroding Cas' body. Eating away at his flesh. He'd never seen anything like that before and it was horrifying.

"Dean," Sam breathed, as he too saw the damage, his voice shaking with hopelessness.

"I—I think I'm dying," Cas whispered, choking on something in his throat. At this point, Dean almost hoped it was just blood.

Dean swallowed hard and swiftly tugged off his jacket and flannel, starting to tear the arms off the plaid shirt. He shook his head at the angel, forcing a false smile.

"No way, Cas, you're not checking out on us now. We're gonna get you out of here, get this wound taken care of, and then I am going to go after those limey bastards and rip their lungs out."

He folded the largest part of his shirt into a pad and pressed it against Cas' wound. The angel's back arched and he cried out in pain. Sam gripped his shoulder to offer support, resting his other hand on top of Cas' head, to soothe a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

"I'm sorry," Cas whispered and Dean was even more worried when he saw tears gathering in the angel's eyes. Cas never cried. "They were going to hurt you, recruit Mary. Make Sam drink demon blood…"

"Cas," Dean stopped him, gripping his knee for a moment. "It's okay, man. We don't blame you. They're dicks for forcing you into this, but I know it's not your fault."

"Of course it isn't, Cas," Sam assured him softly. "We just wish you had told us sooner."

"Me too," Cas choked out, groaning again as Dean wrapped more strips of his shirt around Cas' waist and knotted them over the pad he had made to try and stop the bleeding a little at least, though at this point, that was probably the least of Cas' problems. Cas shuddered and Dean gripped his arm, not knowing what else he could do but be there. If there was one thing Dean hated more than anything, it was being helpless, especially when people he cared about were hurting.

Cas' eyes opened again, deep regret and pain written there. "I—I don't want to die." His voice broke, nearly making Dean lose it completely.

"Dammit, Cas, you're not gonna die!" he said, angrier than he had meant to, but anger was better than giving up. He stood up and with a nod to Sam, made to lift Cas to his feet. "We're gonna get you out of here and find a way to fix this."

The door to the basement slammed open and the three of them looked up in horror.

"I don't think so."

Ramiel, or at least that was who Dean figured it was, stood at the top of the stairs, gripping an oddly compliant Crowley by the back of the collar before Ramiel sent the lesser demon flying down the stairs to crash into a display of medieval weaponry. Crowley's yelp was cut off abruptly and Dean suddenly felt like they were utterly screwed.

 


	8. Family

 

Ramiel strode down the stairs slowly as Sam and Dean positioned themselves to stand in front of Cas, pulling their weapons to hand.

"More trespassers," Ramiel hissed, shaking his head in disgust. "This is getting old. I never should have trusted Crowley to keep his word."

"We just came for our friend," Sam said firmly. "Tell us how to fix him and we might not kill you."

Ramiel chuckled. "Is that your best play, little human? You think you're any match for me? I didn't catch the other filthy intruder who stole from me, but I will be happy enough to take it out of your flesh instead."

"Go ahead and try," Dean snarled at him. "We've taken out bigger bastards than you."

"Including my brother, Azazel, I know," Ramiel said indifferently. "He was a fanatic, I was always more methodical. Cold, I supposed you might say. I don't like people messing with me."

"So we've heard," Dean said. "But you wanna know something about me? I don't like people messing with my family!" And with that, he lunged forward with the angel blade to stab it into Ramiel's chest.

That was the plan anyway. What really happened was Ramiel grabbed him by the wrist and tossed him almost nonchalantly to the side where Dean crashed into a display of weaponry with a grunt. As he was trying to regain his feet, he heard Sam yelp and go flying too.

Ramiel was laughing. "You really do think you can beat me, don't you?"

Dean looked up, forcing himself to his elbows, and saw that Sam had managed to stick the demon knife into Ramiel's chest, but it had done nothing, only giving off a few half-hearted sparks. The demon reached down to pull it from his body and tossed it contemptuously aside.

"Now I just get to decide how I want to kill you," Ramiel said, looking around at all his weapons. "I was always fond of impalements."

"Leave them alone."

Dean looked over and saw that Cas had found a weapon, having crawled across the floor several feet to grab a long spear with symbols carved into the haft. Then Dean realized that must be the Lance of Michael that Ramiel had used to stab Cas.

Ramiel sneered. "Little angel. So brave, but so foolish. I suppose I'll have to take you out first." He strode over toward Cas, and Dean surged the rest of the way to his feet, stabbing the angel blade into Ramiel's back.

It sparked for several seconds and Dean held his breath, but Ramiel straightened and turned back around to Dean who was already starting to back away.

"Nice try, boy," Ramiel told him and flicked a hand, mojoing him backwards to crash into the stairs and tumble down them before he blacked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam saw Dean hit the stairs and simply lay there at the bottom of them. He swallowed hard, hoping his brother was all right, but there was no time to check him right now with Ramiel still trying to kill them.

"Cas!" Sam called and turned toward the angel who was holding the lance. Cas seemed to know what he wanted and tossed the spear toward him with what seemed to be the last of his strength. Sam snatched it out of the air and fell into a fighting stance between Ramiel and the angel.

The demon seemed delighted by this. "Do you really think you'll be able to take me out, boy? A puny human like you?"

Sam gave him a fierce grin. "I'm not so puny." He swung forward with the lance, and even though Ramiel ducked, Sam still caught him a glancing blow with the butt of the haft. Ramiel growled and surged forward to grab the lance along with Sam, forcing the younger Winchester back against a table, knocking several, probably priceless, artifacts to the ground. Sam grunted, feeling the table dig into his back, and kicked out at Ramiel, making the demon's knee buckle, which gave Sam the advantage he needed to break free of the demon's hold.

He wasted no time when Ramiel stood up again.

Sam reversed the lance with one last burst of energy and slammed the head into Ramiel's chest. The demon stopped, shock on his face, then started to spark, and finally burst into a flaming black explosion. Sam shielded his eyes and when the flare was over, Ramiel was nothing more than some ash on the floor. Sam looked at the lance with wide-eyed appreciation, breathing heavily. That was some kind of powerful weapon.

Cas' cry of agony pierced his thoughts and he looked over to where Dean, seemingly recovered from his fall, was already crouching on the floor next to the wounded angel.

"Sammy," Dean called, an urgent note in his voice. Sam swallowed hard and hurried over to Cas. Dean was supporting him with an arm around Cas' shoulders, holding him tightly as a wave of agony washed through the angel, making him shudder and writhe in pain. Sam reached out and gripped Cas' knee and arm, rubbing gently to offer what comfort he could.

"Cas, it's okay, we're here," Sam told him, glancing up to meet his brother's solemn gaze. He was hoping childishly for some reassurance that everything would be okay, but all he saw was the truth in Dean's green eyes. That Cas was in fact dying, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Cas' back arched again with a strangled cry, and he choked as something bubbled up from his throat, dripping out of the corner of his mouth. Sam reached up to wipe it away with his sleeve but instead of blood, he found the same black ichor that had spread throughout Cas' body from the wound. Sam looked helplessly at Dean again as Cas choked on the stuff, both of them completely helpless to do anything for their friend.

"Cas, hold on," Dean whispered, pulling the angel closer against him as if that would somehow keep the inevitable from happening. "Please."

Sam heard a grunt behind them and whipped around to see Crowley staggering to his feet. He had almost forgotten the demon was there. Sam didn't have time for him now though, instead he turned back toward Cas, and settled a hand against the angel's blackened cheek. Cas' eyes were glazing over, and Sam's filled with tears as he realized this was it. He took Cas' shaking hand in his own and squeezed.

"It's okay, Cas. We're here," he tried.

"Come on, man, don't do this," Dean pleaded, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Sam heard a scrape and glanced over to see Crowley picking up the Lance of Michael from the floor. Before he could demand what the demon was doing, Crowley took the shaft between his hands and snapped it in two.

Blue light exploded in the room, blinding Sam and Dean as they quickly ducked their heads against the supernova. When it finally faded, they heard a ragged gasp and whipped back around to stare, wide-eyed, at Cas. His eyes were glowing blue, but they faded quickly, just like the black, suppurating wounds that had covered his body only seconds before.

"What the hell was that? Cas?" Dean demanded, looking the angel up and down.

Cas looked just as shocked as they were, shaking hands grasping at his side. All three of them turned to Crowley who still held the two pieces of the lance.

"It's all in the spellwork," the demon said with a shrug. "Break the runes, you take away its power. You're welcome." Then he disappeared, leaving the broken lance to drop onto the floor.

Sam stared wide-eyed between Dean and Cas, trying to register what happened, his brain backfiring on him as it pulled him back from the shock of watching his best friend almost die.

Dean cleared his throat and settled a hand on Cas' shoulder. The angel still looked pretty dazed, and Sam couldn't really blame him.

"Cas?" Dean inquired almost hesitantly. "You okay?"

Cas looked down at himself, before reaching down to peel off the makeshift bandage Dean had tied around his wound. His hands were shaking so Sam reached over to help him pull the knots apart. The frabric were still crusted with blood and Cas' skin and clothes were smeared with it, but underneath there was just smooth flesh. All the black lines of poison were gone as well, to Sam's relief. Cas touched his side almost in disbelief.

"I—I think I am," he said, glancing over at the broken pieces of Michael's Lance that still lay on the floor where Crowley had dropped it.

Dean shook his head, running a hand through his hair as relief and a little disbelief washed over his features. "Crowley," he said it almost like a curse. "Who would have thought that bastard would be the one to save your life."

"It does seem very ironic," Cas admitted, his voice still gravelly. He looked exhausted, and Sam suddenly broke out of his mind fog, deciding to take action.

"Come on, there's no point in staying here any longer. Let's get you back home," Sam said and got to his feet, a bit sore and stiff from being thrown around by Ramiel, but he was good. He was just relieved at having Cas back with them and alive.

Dean stood as well, and they both reached down to pull the angel to his feet.

Cas still seemed weak, even if his wound had been healed, and the Winchesters were quick to steady him as he wavered. Cas looked between them, sudden pain coming over his features that had nothing to do with anything physical.

"You…you still want me there?" the angel asked hesitantly.

"Damn right we do," Dean told him, looking Cas directly in the eye when he said it. "You're family."

"This whole thing, it wasn't your fault," Sam assured him, clasping a hand to Cas' shoulder. "This is on the Brits."

"Yeah, and those assholes are gonna pay big time," Dean growled.

Cas sagged in relief, and offered a small wry smile. "Can they pay later? I would really like to rest in a bed for a few days."

Sam laughed and Dean quirked a smile. "Well, they do say revenge is best served cold," Sam told him.

"Good," Cas replied and went to take a step only to nearly collapse.

"Whoa, easy buddy," Dean said, and quickly ducked in to support Cas. Sam moved closer to his other side and they pulled Cas' arms around their shoulders, steadying his with their other arms around his back, as they maneuvered him up the stairs. Cas grit his teeth and grumbled, obviously annoyed with his weakness, but Sam and Dean never made him feel like a burden, they just took his weight without a word and that was really the best kind of forgiveness they could give.

By the time they got out to the Impala, they were pretty much supporting Cas, and he gladly took a seat in the back of the car, craning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes.

"You sure you're okay?" Sam asked him.

"I just feel rundown," Cas assured him. "But I don't feel bad. My grace just needs time to replenish itself."

"Well, we'll get you home and cleaned up and give you something to eat," Dean assured him in his gruff mother-henning voice that made Sam smirk a little—kind of glad he wasn't the one on the receiving end this time.

"Thank you," Cas said, weary, but sounding grateful.

Dean cast Sam a look over the top of the Impala before the got in, and Sam returned it with a relieved smile. They had their third brother back with them now, and everything seemed like it was back on the track of being good.

Of course, they should have known that wouldn't be the case.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They drove in silence for several miles. Dean didn't even turn the radio on, he was actually just content with his own thoughts for the moment. He was still reeling with the prospect of nearly losing Cas. Sure, the angel had actually died before—several times, as had they all. But Dean hadn't always been there to see it happen, and the times he had it had been so quick that he hadn't gotten a chance to really register it. This time though, watching Cas die in agony, rotting from the inside out from the lance's poison…that had been a lot to bear. Dean was wary of saying he was actually grateful to Crowley, but, dammit, he was pretty freakin' grateful that the demon had known what to do to stop Cas from dying. Still, even though the angel was okay, Dean knew it was going to be a long time before he stopped seeing that image in his nightmares, and he was pretty sure it would be the same for Sam and Cas.

It was Cas who broke the silence eventually, surprising Dean who had thought the angel was asleep, or 'recharging'.

"Sam, Dean," Cas said quietly, but with determination. "I feel like we should talk about what happened."

"Cas," Sam said, turning around in his seat to meet the angel's eyes. "We don't have to do this now."

Cas shook his head. "But I can't let it sit. I am grateful for your forgiveness, but I can't forget the fact that I essentially betrayed you."

"What? You didn't betray us, Cas," Dean told him, glancing in the rearview mirror at the pained expression on Cas' face.

"But I worked for them when we agreed we wouldn't, and I did it behind your backs." Cas said. "I—I couldn't help but think it was like when I joined with Crowley to take down Raphael."

"Okay, for one, that was your own decision," Dean told him. "And even if I still wish you had come to us back then, I also understand that we pretty much turned you away and that was on us." Sam swallowed hard beside him and Dean felt his heart clench as he remembered all the poor choices they had both made when it came to Cas. "But this, they forced you into it. You didn't have a choice."

"You are the one who told me there is always a choice," Cas returned.

"True, but that doesn't always mean you're weaker for not taking it," Dean told him, glancing back over his shoulder. "Especially if there's a good reason."

"If what you said is true, you did it to protect us, and Mom," Sam added, glancing back at Cas as well. "There's nothing wrong with that."

Cas was silent for a moment, looking out the window. "I guess I just didn't want to take the chance of not being able to protect you after all. If I refused and they came for you, I…I wasn't sure I would be able to defend you. Like when I lost you to the secret service."

Dean gripped the wheel again. "Hey, we're not exactly unqualified to take down a few limey paper pushers."

"But you don't know Ketch like I do," Cas said firmly. "Dean, he is a sadistic, sociopathic bastard. He's dangerous and cold, and he's not someone you want to mess with."

"We've taken down bigger," Sam added. "I mean, Lucifer, for one."

"I know," Cas said. "And it's a good thing Ketch is only human. But I am still not willing to underestimate him."

"Well, whatever comes of this, Cas, we'll face it together," Sam assured him. "You don't have to do this alone anymore."

"Hell no," Dean agreed. "And we forgive you, man. I just want you to know that. The only reason I was angry before was because I just didn't want you to have to go through whatever you were doing alone. We don't do that anymore."

"I know, and I don't blame you," Cas said, and Dean caught a small smile in the rearview mirror. "I know you only get angry when you truly care."

Sam snorted and Dean glared indignantly but didn't say anything.

"Yeah, that's a good lesson to learn, Cas," Sam told the angel. "Dean 101."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grunted. He then caught a flash of headlights in his side mirror, and blinked, wishing the guy would turn off his brights. He waited for the other driver to either pass him or ease off, but the car just kept getting closer and closer to the back of the Impala.

"What the hell?" Dean demanded, glancing in the rearview mirror again. "Get off my tail, asshat," he growled under his breath.

Cas and Sam both looked behind them to see another pair of headlights fast approaching, tailgating the Impala before they pulled into the other lane and surged forward. Dean raised a hand to flip them off as they passed, but was suddenly caught off guard as the car spun in the road about a hundred feet down and parked across both lanes, causing Dean to slam on the brakes and skid off onto the shoulder to avoid crashing into them.

"What the hell?" Sam shouted.

Dean watched as the doors of the car in front of them opened, and out popped several dark-clothed figures toting weapons. But Dean was watching the diver as he opened his door at a more leisurely pace, his features becoming clear in the headlights of the Impala.

"Ketch," Cas said for him as the Englishman stared right at Dean and gave a satisfied smile.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean growled, and grabbed his gun, shoving the door open.

"Dean, wait!" Cas yelled, grabbing for his shoulder, but it was too late and Dean was too angry for that. He was out of the car in an instant, gun leveled at Ketch.

"I've been waiting for a face-to-face with you, you dick," he snarled.

"Dean, pleasure seeing you again too," Ketch said with that smarmy voice of his. "Afraid I'm going to have to ask you to stand down, though."

"Like hell," Dean snarled and lowered the gun to shoot the Brit in the foot—he wasn't going to kill him…yet…but he wasn't going to let him get away either.

Unfortunately, Ketch was all too quick on the draw, stepping inside Dean's shooting range and grabbing his wrist, twisting sharply so Dean dropped the gun with an angry shout. Ketch spun him around and locked a forearm across Dean's throat, wrenching his right arm up behind his back painfully. Dean grimaced.

"Easy," Ketch said into his ear. "You don't want any accidents to happen, do you?"

Dean's eyes instantly went to Sam and Cas who were being yanked from the Impala. Sam fought, but two of the men simply shoved him against Baby's hood and clapped handcuffs on him. Cas fought too, but he was still weak—he had just almost died after all—and at the moment he wasn't even a match for one human. Handcuffs that glowed briefly with sigils were snapped around his wrists and the man who had him shoved a rod, which sparked like a taser, into his side. Cas yelped in pain and shuddered before collapsing to the ground, twitching.

"You sons of bitches!" Dean spat, straining against Ketch's hold. He slammed his free fist back into the Brit's ribs but since the bastard was wearing body armor, it didn't do much. He persisted by throwing his weight backwards to smash Ketch against the car, and stomped on his instep. Ketch grunted and loosened his grip enough for Dean to get free, and by then elder Winchester was on him, hands gripping Ketch's jacket, slamming him against the side of the car hard enough to break a window.

"I'll kill you!" he snarled. "I will break your fricken' neck!"

He spun around and slammed Ketch against the ground. The Brit rolled among the broken glass, and came up with a grin, slipping his hands into his pockets and bringing out a pair of those sigiled brass knuckles.

"Please, by all means, give me your best shot. I could use a good workout," Ketch coaxed.

Dean knew he shouldn't have, but he was finished with this asshole. He launched himself forward, kicking at Ketch, but the Brit grabbed his ankle and yanked Dean off balance as he swiftly leapt to his feet. Dean spun, only to meet a metal covered fist right to the jaw. He gasped, staggering back, and Ketch took the opportunity to slam another into Dean's ribs. The hunter doubled over with a choked breath, receiving another blow to the side of the face, and one more to the stomach that dropped him to his knees, his body singing with pain. He tried to get to his feet but Ketch simply kicked him onto his back, standing over him with a blasé expression.

"How disappointing," he said. "I was expecting so much more from the great Dean Winchester."

"You bastard," Dean said hoarsely spitting out a gob of blood, thinking he'd lost a tooth. "I'll still kill you."

"Dean," Sam's voice cut through Dean's haze of pain, and he looked to see his little brother, roughed up and held between two men with a gun pressed into his side, and then turned to look at Cas, his second brother, unconscious and vulnerable on the ground.

Ketch took this opportunity to pounce on Dean, shoving him onto his face and wrenching his arms behind his back before snapping on the cuffs. Dean grunted as he was hauled to his feet, and Ketch shoved him none-too-gently toward the Impala.

"Take Sam and the angel in the other car. I'll follow you."

"Oh hell no, you are not driving my baby," Dean snarled at Ketch.

The man simply smiled and reached into Dean's pocket to retrieve the keys. "Sweet dreams, Dean." Then he slammed Dean's head against the Impala's roof and Dean's world went black.

 


	9. Final Straw

 

Castiel came to, feeling like he had been hit by a truck. Maybe he had…he couldn't quite remember anything. The last thing he remembered was Sam and Dean finding him in Ramiel's house, but…no, they had gotten out of there, and Crowley—of all people—had been the one to cure him of the poison that Michael's lance had cursed him with. And then they had been heading back to the bunker when…

Castiel lurched into a sitting position, the sound of rattling chains startling him back to the present. He blinked sharply at his surroundings, they looked like some kind of holding cell, and his movements were restricted because his hands were manacled behind his back. Upon further inspection, he realized the chain was attached to a collar around his neck, keeping him secured to the wall.

Castiel growled, seething at the indignity, and forced his way to his feet even as his head pounded and his vision tilted violently. He surged toward the door, only to run out of chain and tumble back to the ground with a choked off cry. The British Men of Letters had found them. They had him, which meant they likely had Sam and Dean too. Castiel wouldn't let them hurt his friends, his family. If they dared touch Sam and Dean, he was going to kill them, just as he had threatened before.

The door creaked open and Castiel looked up with anger burning in his eyes to see none other than Arthur Ketch standing in the doorway, smiling smugly.

"Hello, angel," he said. "Glad you're rested, we've got work for you."

Surely they weren't taking him on another mission now? "Where are Sam and Dean?" Castiel demanded, making his way to his knees again. "If you have hurt them…"

"A few bumps and bruises," Ketch shrugged, pointedly massaging his knuckles that had fresh bruises on them. If he was trying to get Castiel to hate him even more than he already did, then he was succeeding. "But that's all…for now. They'll be fine as long as they cooperate with us."

Castiel scoffed. "They will never cooperate with you. Especially now."

"I think you underestimate our powers of persuasion," Ketch said with a smirk. "Toni Bevel was…unpracticed compared to some. We have specialists who can even make the Winchesters, stubborn as they are, sing like birds."

Castiel seethed as Ketch stepped into the cell and went to undo Castiel's chain. "But no matter, those insufferable cowboys are no longer your concern. We have found another use for you. Far more productive."

Castiel growled as Ketch wrapped the chain around his hand and pulled. Castiel had no choice but to get to his feet or be choked, but he took the opportunity to rush at Ketch as he did so.

The Brit dodged with a tsk, yanking the chain hard to the side and causing Castiel to tumble to the ground, jarring his already aching body.

"Ah-ah," Ketch warned. "Be a good little angel. Heel."

He yanked hard on the chain again, nearly crushing the angel's windpipe, and practically hauled Castiel to his feet and out the door. Castiel stumbled and staggered, nearly falling on several occasions but somehow finding enough strength to keep his feet.

Ketch hauled him toward a room that looked like some sort of laboratory, beakers and test tubes and half put together contraptions littered the tables, being worked on by several men and women in lab coats. One man looked up as Ketch came in.

"Lionel, I have a new test subject for you," Ketch told him. "I know you always wanted an angel."

The man in the lab coat eyed Castiel with an intensity and interest that made the angel feel instantly vulnerable.

"Very nice," Lionel said. "Could you help secure it for us? We have a few new items we need to try out before they go to field testing."

"Of course," Ketch said and hauled Castiel after Lionel.

"What are you doing?" Castiel demanded. "Let me go!"

He was forced toward a chair with straps and manacles fixed to it, and he instantly balked. It looked all too similar to the one Naomi would strap him into when she tore into his head. He dug his heels in, pulling so hard against the chain that Ketch stumbled. Lionel simply pulled out one of the taser sticks the men who captured them had used on Castiel before and shoved it into his side. Castiel felt the current tear through him, making his body numb. He collapsed and Ketch and Lionel wasted no time in forcing him into the chair, tearing his coat off and stripping him to the waist, before they snapped his hands into the manacles and bound the straps tightly across his torso and legs. Finally a strap went around his head, and a sigiled gag was forced into his mouth. Castiel felt his grace become fully contained and bound just as securely as his body. There was no way he was getting out of this by himself.

"Everything's set," Lionel said in a businesslike manner and turned to one of his assistants. "Karen, let's begin the first test."

Castiel could only close his eyes and hope that Sam and Dean at least were not dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean came to with a pounding head and a dull ache throughout his entire body. He groaned as he craned his head upright and blinked blearily at his surroundings.

"Dean?"

Dean glanced over to the side and saw Sam tied to a chair, which Dean realized was the same position he was in. He quickly took stock of his little brother's appearance, seeing Sam was a bit roughed up, a black eye and a bloody lip, but he didn't seem to have any vital injuries.

Not that that made any difference to Dean's opinion of the men who did it, though.

"You okay?" Sam asked him, eyes concerned.

Dean winced as he tested his bonds. "Yeah…probably a concussion, bruised ribs, but I'll live." He looked around the room they were in a little more and saw that it was some kind of…office? He wasn't really sure. It was pretty utilitarian, but there was a desk with a computer on one side of the room, and several maps and charts pinned up on one wall.

He wasn't really concerned about that though, what he was concerned about was the fact that Cas wasn't tied up with them.

"You seen Cas since we got here?" he asked Sam.

The younger man shook his head helplessly. "They hauled him off somewhere else once we got here. I don't know what they did with him, but he was still unconscious."

Dean cursed under his breath, yanking at his bonds again, but they were tied very well and he would have to work at them for probably more time than they had to get them loose. They had just saved Cas from near death, he wasn't about to lose him now.

"We need to get the hell out of here," Dean growled.

"I've been working on my ropes, but they're not going anywhere," Sam grunted. "And they took all my weapons. Ketch made sure to do it himself. All of yours are gone too—he was very thorough."

Dean rolled his eyes in frustration. "Great, the last thing I want in my head in the picture of that limey bastard groping me. Makes me want to take a shower."

"Well, I think that's the least of our problems right now," Sam said seriously.

Dean knew he was right. Cas had even said that Ketch and Davies had threatened to force Sam to drink demon blood again. That was the last thing Dean wanted to happen. They needed to find Cas and get out of there, sooner rather than later.

He didn't have a chance to think more of possible escape options though because the door to the office opened and in walked Mick Davies followed by Ketch who had a disgusting smirk on his face.

"Ah, good, you're awake," Mick said, coming to stand several feet in front of the Winchesters, obviously keeping himself out of range, even though they were tied up too much to move anyway. Dean had to admit he was pretty satisfied to see that Mick's nose was slightly swollen and he was sporting two black eyes, but he couldn't dwell on that too much, as there were more important things to worry about.

"Where the hell is Cas, you bastard?" Dean demanded without preamble, as Ketch leaned against the wall, slightly behind Mick.

"Who?" Ketch asked, smirk still in place, raising an eyebrow.

"You know damn well who," Sam snapped, obviously just as furious as his brother.

"You mean your pet angel?" Ketch replied. "It's being kept with the rest of our assets."

"His name is Cas," Dean said in a low and dangerous voice, straining at his bonds so hard he could feel blood dripping from his wrists. "And if you so much as touch a hair of his head…"

"Oops, a little late for that," Ketch replied with an amused tilt of his head. "I just gave it to Lionel to play with. He's our lead scientist in the R&D department—helps make all the fun things we get to use on hunts. Right now he's using your angel as a new test subject."

Dean's stomach flipped, and he nearly surged from the chair then as he and Sam both started shouting their protests at the same time.

Ketch made a weary, disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "Really, all this fuss over a lost pet; it's quite disgraceful. You can get another angel."

Dean almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You listen to me, you dick," he said in a low dangerous voice. "Cas isn't a pet. He's not a tool, or an asset or whatever you decided to call him. To Sam and me, he's family. He's our brother, and anyone who messes with my family gets dead. If you know our careers so well, you probably know that."

"Alright, this really isn't getting anywhere, is it?" Mick said, cutting in. "Sam, Dean, we know it's been rough going here."

Both Winchesters snorted in derision, but Mick went on pluckily. "But if you are willing to cooperate, we may be able to work something out."

"Cooperate?" Dean asked blandly. "Are you freakin' kidding me? Did you not just hear what I said? You forced Cas to work for you, threatened us to make sure he stayed obedient—you threw him to a Prince of Hell. And you also have plans to turn my brother into a demon-killing machine. You think we'll give you the time of day now? The only time I'm going to spend on either of you is if you're under my knife, and I was trained by hell's best. I swore not to torture again, but damned if I wouldn't make an exception for you two."

Mick's throat bobbed, his infallible expression falling slightly, but Ketch seemed delighted, smiling.

"You know, I almost like you now. Shame I'll probably have to torture you instead. Though, feel free to give me pointers while I'm doing it."

Dean smiled flatly. "Go ahead. Just remember, I spent thirty years in hell under Alastair's blade. He was a master. If you think you can break me, then you just go ahead."

"I do enjoy a challenge," Ketch told him.

"We'll leave you to decide until tomorrow morning whether you want to work with us or not," Mick offered.

"You can have our answer now, we're not changing our minds," Sam said.

"And we want to see Cas," Dean demanded.

"The angel is non-negotiable now," Mick said. "He will further our pursuits in the hunting sciences."

"Though, if you're good, Lionel may let you have some scrapings once he's done with it," Ketch added. "There may be a feather left if you're lucky."

"You son of a bitch," Dean growled low, running out of anything else to say as his hatred choked him. Ketch simply smiled at him and followed Mick out the door.

"Dammit!" Dean screamed as the door was closed again. He wrenched at his bonds until his wrists were bleeding and he had practically dislocated both his shoulders.

"Dean, stop," Sam finally pleaded, and Dean finally stopped struggling, not giving up, just trying to keep himself calm so he could think.

"I'll kill them all, Sammy, I swear," he seethed under his breath.

"Leave some for me," Sam replied coldly. "But we have to play this right. Maybe if we act like we're playing along tomorrow we'll have a chance to get out and save Cas."

"Yeah, I doubt it. We're all screwed, Sammy."

Just as Dean said that, there was a sound like an explosion that came from not too far away in the building. Sam and Dean looked at each other as shouts started, as well as the sound of guns firing. It wasn't long before footsteps sounded outside the door to the office and it opened.

But it wasn't Mick or Ketch who came in.

It was Crowley.

"Crowley?!" Sam and Dean both said at the same time, glancing at each other as if to make sure they were both seeing this.

"Hello boys," Crowley said nonchalantly as he strode into the office and went straight to the desk. He started riffling through the desk drawers before he made a pleased sound and pulled out a leather wrapped object. He started back toward the door.

"What, is that it?" Dean demanded, tugging at his bonds.

Crowley raised his eyebrows at them. "What, you think I came to rescue your sorry arses?" He shook his head. "Sorry, darlings, my good deed for the year was done when I saved your angel—you're welcome by the way. No, I came for this." He unwrapped the object he held and revealed an antique gun.

Dean instantly recognized it, his eyes bugging wide. "How the hell…"

"The Colt?" Sam demanded. "The Colt was here?"

"What do you think Davies and his friends were so fired up about?" Crowley asked. "There's certainly no other reason they would attempt to steal something from a Prince of Hell."

"Ramiel had it this whole time?" Dean managed.

"Well, I had to stash it somewhere you two muppets would never find it post Apocalypse. This thing can kill me, after all." He smiled as Sam and Dean glowered at him, and tucked the gun into his coat. "And now I'll be taking it again, and finding a new place for it to hide. Can't be too careful." And then he snapped his fingers, mojoing the ropes that held Sam and Dean, before he simply disappeared.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, but he was already, throwing the ropes off and getting to his feet.

"Come on," Sam said, already up and grabbing his weapons from the nearby desk where the Brits must have stashed them. "Let's go find Cas."

"Hell yes," Dean agreed, grabbing his own weapons and hurrying after Sam as they made their way through the facility.

There was some lingering smoke that was from whatever explosion Crowley must have used as a distraction, but oddly, not that many people. That just confirmed Dean's suspicions that there hadn't been that many operatives to begin with. So really, who gave Davies leave to be so puffed up and full of himself?

"Dean, over here," Sam called after peeking down a corridor.

Dean hurried after him and saw a door marked 'Laboratory'. Dean's stomach flipped again as he thought of Ketch's taunts. What were those bastards doing to Cas?

He shoved through the door with Sam close on his heels, wasting no time.

They looked around the stark, sterile lab, and something caught Dean's eye on the far side of the room as a muffled protest of pain was heard. He turned to see a familiar figure strapped into an examination chair while a man in a lab coat leaned over him.

"Cas?" Dean cried, rushing forward, Sam close behind.

The man in the lab coat looked up, a frown on his face. "Excuse me, I'm conducting important experiments—"

He didn't get a chance to say more because Dean simply grabbed him by the front of the coat and picked him up bodily to slam into the nearest wall. The man squeaked, hands grasping Dean's wrists helplessly as his feet dangled.

"You son of a bitch," Dean growled at him. "This is not important work, you do not experiment on angels and you sure as hell do not mess with my family!"

Dean slammed the man so hard against the wall his head cracked the plaster and left bloodstains. Dean dropped him, not caring if he were unconscious or dead. More scientists were coming to see what was happening, but Dean whipped out his gun.

"Get out of here now, or I swear I will shoot every last one of you!" he commanded. He bent and picked up the unconscious scientist by the back of his coat and kicked him across the floor several feet. "And take this piece of shit with you!"

Two of the scientists hurried forward to grab their co-worker and Dean noticed that Sam too had his gun trained on them. He waited until all the scientists had vacated the premises before he tucked his gun away and turned back to Cas.

The angel's eyes were closed, his head lolling as much as it was allowed to considering all the straps restraining him. Dean's blood boiled as he saw they had also added a collar with sigils on it around Cas' neck. Although, he had a feeling that was Ketch's idea.

Sam was already unbuckling the straps across Cas' chest and legs as Dean took in the angel's physical state. Cas had various injuries all over his body, and what looked like acid burns on his arms. There were even needle marks in the side of his neck, all of which made Dean furious. No one tortured his brothers period, but scientific experimentation? Dean had been to hell, spent time on both sides of the knife, and this still make him sicker than any of that.

"Find a key for these manacles," Dean told Sam, trying to rein in his anger.

Sam went to search the room, and Dean noticed Cas' eyes fluttering. He quickly leaned over the angel, letting him know they were there.

"Cas? Hey buddy, me and Sam are here, don't worry, those assholes aren't gonna touch you again."

Cas grunted and Dean reached behind his head to unstrap the gag, pulling it with disgust from between Cas' teeth. The angel breathed a sigh of relief, licking his lips. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

"I got the key," Sam said triumphantly as he hurried back over. "Hold on just another second, Cas. We'll get you out of there."

Cas stayed still as Sam unlocked the manacles and then he and Dean both offered Cas their hands, pulling him to his feet. The angel was slightly wobbly, but they each took an arm to steady him.

"Easy," Dean said, taking Cas' weight as Sam darted over to one of the tables where Cas' shirt and coat had been carelessly tossed.

"Thank you," Cas grunted as the two hunters helped him dress. Sam clapped him on the shoulder.

"We're just glad we found you, Cas," he said.

"Yeah, and those bastards aren't going to hurt you anymore," Dean said firmly. "We're getting out of here now."

"But what about Ketch and the others?" Cas mumbled worriedly. "They know where the bunker is…"

"Let them come," Sam said firmly. "It will be their problem if they try to meet us in our own home."

"You know that's right," Dean said. "With all the stuff we have stashed in there, we can pull one hell of a Home Alone on those bastards."

Cas got steadier as they went, though Dean still kept a hand on his shoulder, more to assure himself that Cas was there with them than anything else. But also to let Cas know that they were there, that they weren't going to let him go.

"This time, we really are going home," Dean assured him. "Now I've just got to find my Baby. I swear if that asshole put a scratch on her…"

"I think it's safe to say Ketch is already dead to rights," Sam said, only half joking.

"I wonder what the hell he did with my keys?" Dean grumbled.

They were still trying to find an exit when they heard footsteps behind them and turned around as a voice said, "Going somewhere?"

The three spun around to see Ketch, looking a little rough around the edges, his usually immaculate suit rumpled and he was sporting a bloody bruise on his forehead. Dean instantly pulled his gun from his jeans, cocking it.

"Oh, you so do not want to test me now, you limey bastard," Dean growled. "After what you did to Cas…."

"Dean," Cas said, reaching up to put a hand firmly over his wrist to get Dean to lower the weapon. "It's my turn this time."

Dean looked at him, eyes wide and slightly indignant, but he finally lowered his gun and nodded, especially when he saw the steely resolve in Cas' eyes. "Okay. You earned it."

Cas strode forward and grabbed Ketch by the front of his coat, slamming him against the wall.

"Listen up, you ass," he growled. "Our contract of agreement is finished. It's not polite to send your employees to be killed by Princes of Hell or experimented on. And if you even think of coming after any of the Winchesters, my family, in retribution, then remember that at the end of the day, I am an angel of the Lord, and I will smite you without remorse. You may think you're a big bad hunter, but to me, you're just a little bitch."

He pulled back and swung his fist so hard it collided with Ketch's jaw and snapped his head back against the wall. Dean thought he might have broken the Brit's jaw but he didn't care. Let him eat through a straw for the next month. He wasn't going to shed any tears over it.

Cas turned back to Sam and Dean who were watching him with wide eyes.

"Thank you," Cas told them, rubbing his knuckles. "I needed that."

"Yeah, I'll say," Dean said. "You nailed him, dude."

"Yeah, Cas, that was…pretty damn awesome," Sam added with an awed chuckle.

"Let's get out of here," Cas told them.

"I second that," Dean agreed, and the three of them turned and headed toward the nearest exit. They may have been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours, but the fact remained that they were family, and when they were united, no one could take them down.

 


	10. Home

 

The three trudged wearily into the bunker after returning home. Castiel hadn't felt this run down since he had been using stolen grace. He knew that the wound he had taken with Michael's Lance, though completely healed, had really taken a lot out of him. And then there had been the various drugs and implements the Men of Letters' scientists had tested on him that his body was still fighting off. He didn't think any of them would do lasting damage, but he was still going to have some recovery time. He felt woozy, and some of his skin was raw from where they had tested an acid on him. It hadn't been fun.

Mary met them as soon as they came inside the bunker. Sam had called ahead once they had gotten on the road to tell her that they were all fine and on the way back. Mary had been angry at the radio silence, but they had a good excuse since their cellphones had been taken with their weapons.

"I'm so glad you boys are back safe," she told them, giving Sam and Dean a hug before surprising Cas with one as well.

"We're sorry for worrying you, Mom," Sam apologized.

"You're safe now, that's all that matters," Mary said, giving them a once-over. "But you're all a mess. Why don't you go clean up and I'll make you something to eat?"

"You don't have to…" Dean started to protest but Mary folded her arms over her chest and glared at them.

"No arguments; go."

The three of them went meekly, though not before Mary shared a smile with Castiel. He smiled back before following the others.

He had a set of sweat pants and a hoodie and t-shirt that Dean had given him for when he was recovering from injuries, and Castiel took them out of his drawer to replace his normal clothes, which were still crusted with blood. He would be able to repair them once he got his strength back, but he didn't think that would be happening for the next couple days.

He felt better once he got into the hot shower, and was able to wash the blood off of his body. He traced his fingers over the spot Ramiel had stabbed him and shuddered in memory of that agonizing pain.

It seemed to hit him all of a sudden. He hadn't had time to really think of it with everything that had happened after, but he had almost died. His insides had been rotting, and he'd only had minutes left at best before Crowley broke the lance and stopped the curse. It horrified him to think that if Sam and Dean hadn't showed up when they did, he would have died down there in Ramiel's basement alone, without ever being able to apologize to them for what he had done.

But the Winchesters had stayed there with him, comforting him, holding his hand, making sure he wasn't alone in his agony, and that memory warmed the dark thoughts. Even if he had died there after all, it would not have been so bad, dying with the people he loved most.

And Crowley.

But he was so thankful that he had survived, because now he got to experience the love of family, and their forgiveness, even after everything he had done. And now his trials were over and he was allowed to live his own life again.

Castiel took a deep fortifying breath as he stepped out of the shower and dried off. It was amazing how having a family could truly make you realize how much you had to lose.

Once he had dressed, he joined Sam and Dean in the kitchen where Mary was at the stove watching over grilled cheese sandwiches. She looked up as they came in, and smiled.

"I have grilled cheese and tomato rice soup," she told them. "I hope that's okay—it's about the extent of my culinary abilities."

Dean grinned. "That's perfect, Mom, thanks."

"Go sit down then," Mary shoed them off and served them all with steaming bowls of soup and toasted sandwiches.

"Thanks, Mom," Sam said with almost an awed smile on his face. Castiel figured he was thinking about the novelty of having his mother around to feed him dinner, something Sam had never gotten to experience. Castiel smiled on his behalf as he picked up his own spoon.

"Don't thank me yet," she said with good humor. "You haven't tasted it."

Castiel started to eat. The sandwich was crisp on the outside and gooey on the inside and the soup was warm and comforting. His power was so low he could barely taste molecules at the moment. It was nice to be able to eat food sometimes, especially when he was exhausted.

"This is delicious, Mary," Castiel told her.

"It's just soup and sandwiches," she replied with a shrug.

"Yeah, but everything tastes better when someone else makes it," Dean told her.

"Especially when it doesn't taste like molecules," Castiel added.

Dean shot him a worried glance, spoon halfway to his mouth. "Is that a bad thing?"

Castiel shook his head. "It just means I'm tired, worn down. It's nothing that I can't recover from with a bit of rest. In the meantime, I will enjoy this meal."

"Alright." Dean didn't sound completely convinced, but Castiel felt good for the fact that he wasn't lying to them this time. That he didn't have to lie to them again. It was freeing.

After they finished eating, Sam hurriedly cleared the table and insisted on washing up, until Mary practically shoed them out of the kitchen.

"You three were kidnapped tonight, I think I can handle a few dishes for you," she insisted. "I want you to rest—all of you." She swept them with a firm gaze, and Castiel saw the true caring behind it. Mary's return may have been rocky, but there was no doubt in his mind that she truly loved and cared for her sons.

Perhaps she even truly cared for Castiel too, and that was another thing that made him reel at the enormity of everything he had gained since meeting the Winchesters. Of course they'd had their differences, but they were still family, and he would always be so thankful for that.

"Hey, Cas." He turned to see Dean and Sam standing further down the hallway leading toward the dormitory ward. "You okay?"

Castiel nodded. "I am."

"I mean, you were being used as a lab rat, dude, you sure there's no lasting damage?"

Castiel instinctively took stock of himself, but shook his head. "They didn't have much time to do anything too extensive. I have some burns, but it's nothing that won't heal by itself."

"You sure you don't want us to look at them?" Sam asked.

Castiel couldn't even feel annoyed. He just smiled and shook his head. "Thank you for your concern, Sam, but I would really just like to rest." He noticed they still lingered as if not wanting to leave him, and Castiel realized he didn't quite want to leave them yet either, before he said what he had to say. "I…I would like to thank you for being there for me. For coming for me. I was afraid I would never get the chance to apologize to you."

"Cas, man, we already said there was no need to apologize," Dean said. "We've worked that out, right?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes, I know. But I…I haven't felt like I had a place for so long, and recently I have realized that I do. I know my place is here with you. My family." His heart warmed at Sam and Dean's genuine smiles. "And when I thought I might lose that after finally finding some peace…it scared me." He swallowed hard, trying to get his thoughts together. "But I want you to know, that even if I did…if I did die tonight, I would have been grateful that you two were there with me."

Sam and Dean shared a look, emotion shining in their eyes.

"Cas," Dean said, then cleared his throat before continuing. "I promise that we will always endeavor to be there for you, no matter what. And I will be damned if either of you ever has to die alone."

"Yeah, me too," Sam agreed firmly.

"I feel the same," Castiel told them.

"Alright, may as well make this chick flick moment official," Dean said gruffly and stepped forward, dragging Castiel into a firm embrace. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean in return, and when the elder Winchester released him with a form slap to the back, Sam took his place, repeating the gesture. When the embracing was over, Castiel felt the lingering warmth of his surrogate brothers' love, and saw it in their eyes.

"Family always comes first," Dean told him firmly. "No matter what."

Castiel and Sam nodded in agreement. "No matter what," they echoed together. And there really wasn't anything else to say.

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, I'm bushed, so I am out for the night. Goodnight, guys."

"Goodnight, Dean," Castiel told him.

"Goodnight, Cas," Sam told the angel with a smile.

"Goodnight, Sam," Castiel replied and watched the brothers close themselves safely into their rooms before he strode down the hall to his own room.

He turned the lamp on by his bed, and pulled off the hoodie he had been wearing, before slipping into bed. The soft mattress against his aching body made him sigh in relief and he curled up happily around a pillow.

Despite everything that had happened, Castiel could only feel warmth inside of him at the fact, the confirmation even, that his family was always going to be there for him, as he would be in return.

Because as long as they stood together, there was no one who could defeat them.

With those thoughts, Castiel closed his eyes and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this check out the sequel "The Ties That Bind" which has Ketch out for revenge and puts Sam and Cas in lots of peril.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is already finished, I will be adding multiple chapters whenever I get the time. Trying to put all my stories up here on Ao3 but this one and all my others are over on Fanfiction.net as well if you can't wait ;)


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